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PART I INTRODUCTION...................................................................................................................

6
I. GENERAL NOTES ON STYLE AND Stylistics......................................................................6
2. EXPRESSIVE MEANS (EM) AND STYLISTIC DEVICES (SD)......................................21
3. GENERAL NOTES ON FUNCTIONAL STYLES OF LANGUAGE.................................28
4. VARIETIES OF LANGUAGE...............................................................................................30
5. A BRIEF OUTLINE OF THE DEVELOPMENT OF THE ENGLISH LITERARY
(STANDARD) LANGUAGE.....................................................................................................36
6. MEANING FROM A STYLISTIC POINT OF VIEW..........................................................51
PART II STYLISTIC CLASSIFICATION OF THE ENGLISH VOCABULARY...........................62
I. GENERAL CONSIDERATIONS...............................................................................................62
2. NEUTRAL, COMMON LITERARY AND COMMON COLLOQUIAL VOCABULARY....64
3. SPECIAL LITERARY VOCABULARY .................................................................................68
a) Terms.......................................................................................................................................68
b) Poetic and Highly Literary Words..........................................................................................71
c) Archaic, Obsolescent and Obsolete Words.............................................................................74
d) Barbarisms and Foreignisms...................................................................................................78
e) Literary Coinages (Including Nonce-Words)..........................................................................83
4. SPECIAL COLLOQUIAL VOCABULARY............................................................................95
a) Slang........................................................................................................................................95
b) Jargonisms.............................................................................................................................100
c) Professionalisms....................................................................................................................103
d) Dialectal words.....................................................................................................................105
e) Vulgar words or vulgarisms..................................................................................................108
f) Colloquial coinages (words and meanings)...........................................................................109
PART Ш PHONETIC EXPRESSIVE MEANS AND STYLISTIC DEVICES...............................112
GENERAL NOTES......................................................................................................................112
Onomatopoeia...............................................................................................................................113
Alliteration.....................................................................................................................................114
Rhyme...........................................................................................................................................116
Rhythm..........................................................................................................................................117
PART IV LEXICAL EXPRESSIVE MEANS AND STYLISTIC DEVICES.................................123
A. INTENTIONAL MIXING OF THE STYLISTIC ASPECT OF WORDS..............................123
B. INTERACTION OF DIFFERENT TYPES OF LEXICAL MEANING.................................125
1. INTERACTION OF PRIMARY DICTIONARY AND CONTEXTUALLY IMPOSED
MEANINGS..............................................................................................................................126
Metaphor..............................................................................................................................126
Metonymy.............................................................................................................................131
Irony.....................................................................................................................................133
3. INTERACTION OF LOGICAL AND EMOTIVE MEANINGS.......................................139
Interjections and Exclamatory Words..............................................................................140
The Epithet...........................................................................................................................143
Oxymoron.............................................................................................................................148
4. INTERACTION OF LOGICAL AND NOMINAL MEANINGS .....................................149
Antonomasia........................................................................................................................149
C. INTENSIFICATION OF A CERTAIN FEATURE OF A THING OR PHENOMENON......152
Simile.........................................................................................................................................152
Periphrasis.................................................................................................................................154
Euphemism................................................................................................................................158
Hyperbole..................................................................................................................................160
D. PECULIAR USE OF SET EXPRESSIONS............................................................................161
The Cliche.................................................................................................................................162
Proverbs and Sayings................................................................................................................165
Epigrams....................................................................................................................................167
Allusions....................................................................................................................................171
Decomposition of Set Phrases...................................................................................................173
PART V SYNTACTICAL EXPRESSIVE MEANS AND STYLISTIC DEVICES........................174
A. GENERAL CONSIDERATIONS............................................................................................174
B. PROBLEMS CONCERNING THE COMPOSITION OF SPANS OF UTTERANCE
LARGER THAN THE SENTENCE............................................................................................176
Supra-Phrasal Units...................................................................................................................177
The Paragraph............................................................................................................................181
C. COMPOSITIONAL PATTERNS OF SYNTACTICAL ARRANGEMENT..........................184
Stylistic Inversion......................................................................................................................186
Detached Construction..............................................................................................................187
Parallel Construction.................................................................................................................189
Chiasmus (Reversed Parallel Construction)..............................................................................191
Repetition .................................................................................................................................192
Enumeration..............................................................................................................................197
Suspense....................................................................................................................................198
Climax (Gradation)....................................................................................................................200
Antithesis...................................................................................................................................202
D. PARTICULAR WAYS OF COMBINING PARTS OF THE UTTERANCE (LINKAGE). . .205
Asyndeton..................................................................................................................................205
Polysyndeton.............................................................................................................................206
The Gap- Sentence Link............................................................................................................207
E. PARTICULAR USE OF COLLOQUIAL CONSTRUCTIONS.............................................209
Ellipsis.......................................................................................................................................211
Break-in-the-Narrative (Appsiopesis).......................................................................................212
Question-in-the-Narrative.........................................................................................................214
Represented Speech...................................................................................................................215
a) Uttered Represented Speech........................................................................................217
b) Unuttered or Inner Represented Speech......................................................................220
F. STYLISTIC USE OF STRUCTURAL MEANING.................................................................222
Rhetorical Questions.................................................................................................................222
Litotes........................................................................................................................................224
PART VI FUNCTIONAL STYLES OF THE ENGLISH LANGUAGE.........................................226
INTRODUCTORY REMARKS...................................................................................................226
A. THE BELLES-LETTRES STYLE...........................................................................................227
1. LANGUAGE OF POETRY.................................................................................................229
a) Compositional Patterns of Rhythmical Arrangement ................................................230
Metre and Line..................................................................................................................230
The Stanza.........................................................................................................................234
Free Verse and Accented Verse........................................................................................237
b) Lexical and Syntactical Features of Verse....................................................................240
2. EMOTIVE PROSE................................................................................................................246
3. LANGUAGE OF THE DRAMA........................................................................................256
B. PUBLICISTS STYLE..............................................................................................................262
1. ORATORY AND SPEECHES........................................................................................263
2. THE ESSAY..........................................................................................................................267
3. JOURNALISTIC ARTICLES.............................................................................................269
C. NEWSPAPER STYLE.............................................................................................................270
1. BRIEF NEWS ITEMS........................................................................................................272
2. ADVERTISEMENTS AND ANNOUNCEMENTS.............................................................275
3. THE HEADLINE..................................................................................................................276
4. THE EDITORIAL.................................................................................................................279
D. SCIENTIFIC PROSE STYLE................................................................................................281
E. THE STYLE OF OFFICIAL DOCUMENTS..........................................................................285
FINAL REMARKS...........................................................................................................................291

. Introduction
1. General Notes on Style and Stylistics . . 7 ............ 9
2. Expressive Means (EM) and Stylistic Devices (SD) .......... 25
3. General Notes on Functional Styles of Language ...... '. . . . 32
4. Varieties of Language ” t ................... 35
5. A Brief Outline of the Development of the English Literary (Standard)
Language t * t ^ t ......................... 41
6. Meaning from a Stylistic Point of View .............. 57
Part II. Stylistic Classification of the English Vocabulary
1. General Considerations > t .................... 70
2. Neutral, Common Literary and Common Colloquial Vocabulary ... 72
3. Special Literary Vocabulary t .................. 76
a) Terms .. t .t .....: \ .-r ............... 76
b) Poetic and Highly Literary Words .............. 79
c) Archaic, Obsolescent and Obsolete Words ............ 83
d) Barbarisms and Foreignisms .................. 87
e) Literary Coinages (Including Nonce-Words) ........... 92
4. Special Colloquial Vocabulary .................. 104
a) Slang t , t ........................ 104
b) Jargonisms , * , ........................ 109
c) Professionalisms , t , t .................... 113
d) Dialectal Words it t -. .^ ................... 116
e) Vulgar Words or Vulgarisms ............ .\. .... 118
f) Colloquial Coinages (Words and Meanings) ............ 119
Part III. Phonetic Expressive Means and Stylistic Devices
General Notes ............................ 123
Onomatopoeia ... t ........................ 124
Alliteration . e **......................... 126
Rhyme ; ...... %. ....................... 128
Rhythm , , . ” .......................... 129
Part IV. Lexical Expressive Means and Stylistic Devices
A. Intentional Mixing of the Stylistic Aspect of. Words ... ...... 136
В. Interaction of Different Types of Lexical Meaning ............ 138
1. Interaction of Primary Dictionary and Contextually Imposed Meanings 139
Metaphor ............................. 139
Metonymy t ........ ^ ............... \ ... 144
Irony , 5 ............................ 146
2. Interaction of Primary and Derivative Logical Meanings ...... 148
Stylistic Devices Based on Polysemantics Effect, Zeugma and Pun .... 148
3. Interaction of Logical and Emotive Meanings ............ 153
Interjections and Exclamatory Words ............... 154
The Epithet ,,,*....................... 157
Oxymoron >“. “ “ ....................... 162
4. Interaction of Logical and Nominal Meanings ........... 164
Antonomasia ........................... 164
C. Intensification of a Certain Feature of a Thing or Phenomenon ...... 166
' Simile ............................... 167
/, • ^Periphrasis .I.....'..............'...-..... 169
!""' Euphemism ............................. 173
Hyperbole .............................. 176
D. Peculiar Use of Set Expressions .................... 177
The Cliche .............................. 177
Proverbs and Sayings .. :< ....................... 181
Epigrams .............................. 184
Quotations ............................. 186
Allusions .............................. 187
.Decomposition of Set Phrases .................... 189“
5 Part V. Syntactical Expressive Means and Stylistic Devices
General Considerations .......................... '191
ВГ Problems Concerning the Composition of Spans of Utterance Larger than the
Sentence .............................. 193
Supra-Phrasal Units ......................... 194
The Paragraph ........................... 198
C. Compositional Patterns of Syntactical Arrangement .......... 202
Stylistic Inversion .......................... 203
•j Detached Construction ....................... 205
/Parallel Construction ........................ 208
[Chiasmus (Reversed Parallel Construction) .............. 209
Repetition ............................. 211
Enumeration . . . ......................... 216
Suspense. . ....... . ..................... 218
Climax (Gradation) ... \ ...................... 219
Antithesis .............................. 222
D. Particular Ways of Combining Parts of the Utterance (Linkage) . . . . ; 225
, Asyndeton ............................. 226
Polysyndeton . > .-,-......................... 226
The Gap-Sentence -Link . .^. .................... 227
E. Particular Use of Colloquial Constructions .............. 230
Ellipsis". .............................. 231
Break-in-the-Narrative(Aposiopesis) .................. 233
Question-in-the-Narrative . . . ................... 235
Represented Speech ......................... 236
a) Uttered Represented Speech ................... 238
b) Unuttered or Inner Represented Speech ............. 241
F. Stylistic Use of Structural Meaning ................. 244
Rhetorical Questions V * * . . ................... 244
Litotes ...............................
Part VI. Functional Styles of the English Language
Introductory Remarks ......................... 249
A. The belles-lettres Style ....................... 250
1. Language of Poetry ........................ 252
a) Compositional Patterns of Rhythmical Arrangement ........ 252
Meter and Line ., ,• ..................... 252
The Stanza ...... §. .................... 258
Free Verse and Accented Verse '. ................ 261
b) Lexical and Syntactical Features of Verse ............ 264
2. Emotive Prose .......................... 270
3. Language of the Drama .................... 281
В Publicists Style ........................... 287
1 Oratory and Speeches ^ ...................... 288
2. The Essay ............................ 293
3. Journalistic Articles ........................ 295
С Newspaper Style (written by V. L. Nayer) .............. 295
1. Brief News Items ........................ 298
2. Advertisements and Announcements ................ 301
3.' The Headline ........................... 302
4 The Editorial ........................... 305
D Scientific Prose Style ......................... 307
E. The Style of Official Documents ................... 312
Final Remarks ............*................. 319
PART I INTRODUCTION
I. GENERAL NOTES ON STYLE AND Stylistics
Stylistics, sometimes called lingvo-stylistics, is a branch of general linguistics. It has
now been more or less definitely outlined. It deals mainly with two interdependent
tasks: a) the investigation of the inventory of special language media which by their
ontological features secure the desirable effect of the utterance and b) certain types of
texts (discourse) which due to the choice and arrangement of language means are
distinguished by the pragmatic aspect of the communication. The two objectives of
stylistics are clearly discernible as two separate fields of investigation. The inventory
of special language media can be analyzed and their ontological features revealed if
presented in a system in which the co-relation between the media becomes evident.
The types of texts can be analyzed if their linguistic components are presented in their
interaction, thus revealing the unbreakable unity and transparency of constructions of
a given type. The types of texts that are distinguished by the pragmatic aspect of
the communication are called functional styles of language (FS); the special
media of language which secure the desirable effect of the utterance are called
stylistic devices (SD) and expressive means (EM). ' . .
The first field of investigation, i.e. SDs and EMs, necessarily touches upon such
general language problems as the aesthetic function of language, synonymous ways of
rendering one and the same idea, emotional colouring in language, the interrelation
between language and thought, the individual manner of an author in making use of
language and a number of other issues.
The second field, i.e. functional styles, cannot avoid discussion of such most general
linguistic issues as oral and written varieties of language, the notion of the literary
(standard) language, the constituents of texts larger than the sentence, the generative
aspect of literary texts, and some others.
In dealing with the objectives of stylistics, certain pronouncements of adjacent
disciplines such as theory of information, literature, psychology, logic and to some
extent statistics must be touched upon. This is indispensable; for nowadays no science
is entirely isolated from other domains of human knowledge; and linguistics,
particularly its branch stylistics, cannot avoid references to the above mentioned dis-
ciplines because it is confronted with certain overlapping issues.
The branching off of stylistics in language science was indirectly the result of a long-
established tendency of grammarians to confine their investigations to sentences,
clauses and word-combinations which are "well-formed", to use a dubious term,
neglecting anything that did not fall under the recognized and received standards. This
tendency became particularly strong in what is called descriptive linguistics. The
generative grammars, which appeared as a reaction against descriptive linguistics,
have confirmed that the task of any grammar is to limit the scope of investigation of
language data to sentences which are considered well-formed. Everything that fails to
meet this requirement should be excluded from linguistics.
But language studies cannot avoid subjecting to observation any language data
whatever, so where grammar refuses to tread stylistics steps in. Stylistics has acquired
its own status with its own inventory of tools (SDs and EMs), with its own object of
investigation and with its own methods of research.
The stylistics of a highly developed language like English or Russian has brought into
the science of language a separate body of media, thus widening the range of
observation of phenomena in language. The significance of this branch of linguistics
can hardly be over-estimated. A number of events in the development of stylistics
must be mentioned here as landmarks. The first is the discussion of the problem of
style and stylistics in "Вопросы языкознания" in 1954, in which many important
general and particular problems were broadly analyzed and some obscure aspects
elucidated. Secondly, a conference on Style in Language was held at Indiana
University in the spring of 1958, followed by the publication of the proceedings of
this conference (1960) under the editorship of Thomas Sebeok. Like the discussion in
"Вопросы языкознания" this conference revealed the existence of quite divergent
points of view held by different students of-language and literature. Thirdly, a con-
ference on style and stylistics was held in the Moscow State Pedagogical Institute of
Foreign Languages" in March 1969. At this conference lines were drawn along which
studies in lingvo-stylistics might be maintained. An interesting symposium was also
held in Italy, the proceedings of which were published under the editorship of
professor S. Chat man in 1971.
A great number of monographs, textbooks, articles, and dissertation papers are now at
the disposal of a scholar in stylistics. The stream of information grows larger every
month. Two American journals appear regularly, which may keep the student
informed as to trends in the theory of stylistics. They are Style issued at the Arkansas
University (U.S.A.) and Language and Style published in Southern Illinois University
(U.S.A.) (See also the bibliography on p. 324).
It is in view of the ever-growing significance of the exploration of language
potentialities that so much attention is paid in lingvo-stylistics to the analysis of
expressive means (EMs) and stylistic devices (SDs), to their nature and functions, to
their classification and to possible interpretations of additional meanings they may
carry in a message as well as their aesthetic value.
In order to ascertain the borders of stylistics it is necessary to go at some length into
the question of what is style.
The word s t у I e is derived from the Latin word 'stylus' which meant a short stick
sharp at one end and flat at the other used by the Romans for writing on wax tablets.
Now the word 'style1 is used in so many senses that it has become a breeding
ground for ambiguity. The word is applied to the teaching of how to write a
composition (see below); it is also used to reveal the correspondence between thought
and expression; it frequently denotes an individual manner of making use of lan-
guage; it sometimes refers to more general, abstract notions thus inevitably becoming
vague and obscure, as, for example, "Style is the man himself" (Buffon), "Style is
depth" (Derbyshire);* "Style is deviations" (Enkvist); "Style is choice", and the like.
All these ideas directly or indirectly bear on issues in stylistics. Some of them become
very useful by revealing the springs which make our utterances emphatic, effective
and goal-directed. It will therefore not come amiss to quote certain interesting
observations regarding style made by different writers from different angles. Some of
these observations are dressed up as epigrams or sententious maxims like the ones
quoted above. Here are some more of them.
"Style is a quality of language which communicates precisely emotions or thoughts,
or a system of emotions or thoughts, peculiar to the author." (J. Middleton Murry)
"... a true idiosyncrasy of style is the result of an author's success in compelling
language to conform to his mode of experience." (J. Middleton Murry)
"Style is a contextually .restricted linguistic variation." (Enkvist) "Style is a selection
of non-distinctive features of language." (L. Bloom-field)
"Style is simply synonymous with form or expression and hence a superfluous term."
(Benedetto Croce)
"Style is essentially a citation process, a body of formulae, a memory (almost in the
cybernetic sense of the word), a cultural and not an expressive inheritance." (Roland
Barthes) •" - . *~
Some/ linguists consider that the word 'style' and the subject of linguistic stylistics is
confined to the study of the effects of the message, i.e. its impact on the reader. Thus
Michael Riffaterre writes that "Stylistics will be a linguistics of the effects of the
message, of the output of the act of communication, of its attention-compelling
function".1 This point of view has clearly been reached under the influence of recent
developments in the general theory of information. Language, being one of the means
of communication or, to be exact, the most important means of communication, is
regarded in the above quotation from a pragmatic point of view. Stylistics in that case
is regarded as a language science which deals with the results of the act of
communication
To a very considerable degree this is true. Stylistics must take into consideration the
"output of the act of communication". But stylistics must also investigate the
ontological, i.e. natural, inherent, and functional peculiarities of the means of
communication which may ensure the effect sought.
Archibald A. Hill states that "A current definition of style and stylistics is that
structures, sequences, and patterns which extend, or may extend, beyond the
boundaries of individual sentences define style, and that the study of them is
stylistics."1
The truth of this approach to style and stylistics lies in the fact that the author
concentrates on such- phenomena in language as present a system, in other words, on
facts which are not confined to individual use.
The most frequent definition of style is one expressed by Seymour Chatman: "Style is
a product of individual choices and patterns of choices (emphasis added) among
linguistic possibilities."2
This definition indirectly deals with the idiosyncrasies peculiar to a given writer.
Somehow it fails to embrace such phenomena in text structure where the 'individual'
is reduced to the minimum or even done away with entirely (giving preference to non-
individualistic forms in using language means). However, this definition is acceptable
when applied to the ways men-of-letters use language when they seek to make it
conform to their immediate aims and purport. A somewhat broader view of style is
expressed by Werner Winter who maintains that "A style may be said to be
characterized by a pattern of recurrent selections from the inventory of optional
features of a language. Various types of selection can be found: complete exclusion of
an optional element, obligatory inclusion of a feature optional elsewhere, varying
degrees of inclusion of a specific variant without complete elimination of competing
features."3
The idea of taking various types of selection as criteria for distinguishing styles seems
to be a sound one. It places the whole problem on a solid foundation of objective-
criteria, namely, the interdependence of optional and obligatory features.
There is no point in quoting other definitions of style. They are too many and too
heterogeneous to fall under one more or less satisfactory unified notion. Undoubtedly
all these diversities in the understanding of the word 'style' stem from its ambiguity.
But still all these various definitions leave impression that by and large they all have
something in common. All of them4 point to some integral significance, namely, that
style is a set of characteristics by which we distinguish one author from another
or members of one subclass from members of other subclasses, all of which are
members-of the same general class.4 What are these sets of characteristics typical of
a writer or of a subclass of the literary language will be seen in the analysis of the
language means of a craven writer and of the subclasses of the general literary
standard.
Another point the above quotations have in common is that all of them concentrate
on the form of the expression almost to the detriment of the content. In other words,
style is regarded as something that belongs exclusively to the plane of expression
and not to the plane 'of content. l This opinion predominantly deals with the
correspondence between the intention of the writer whoever he may be—a man of
letters, the writer of a diplomatic document, an article in a newspaper, or a scientific
treatise—and the effect achieved. The evaluation is also based on whether the choice
of language means conforms with the most general pattern of the given type of text—
a novel, a poem, a letter, a document, an article, an essay and so on.
It follows then that the term 'style', being ambiguous, needs a restricting adjective to
denote what particular aspect of style we intend to deal with. It is suggested here that
the term individual style should be applied to that sphere of linguistic and literary
science which deals with the peculiarities of a writer's individual manner of using lan-
guage means to achieve the effect he desires. Deliberate choice must be distinguished
from a habitual idiosyncrasy in the use of language units'/every individual has his own
manner and habits of using them. The speech of an individual which is characterized
by peculiarities typical of that particular individual is called an I d i о I e с t. The
idiolect should be distinguished from what we call, individual style, inasmuch as the
word 'style' presupposes a deliberate choice.
When Buffon coined his famous saying which, due to its epigrammatical form,
became a by-word all over the world, he had in mind the idiolect, i.e. those qualities
of speech which are inherent and which reveal a man's breeding, education, social
standing, etc. All these factors are, however, undoubtedly interwoven with individual
style. A man's breeding and education will always affect his turn of mind and
therefore will naturally be revealed in his speech and writing. But a writer with a
genuine individual style will as much as possible avoid those language
peculiarities which point to his breeding and education in order to leave room
for that deliberate choice of language means which will secure the effect sought.
It follows then that the individual style of a writer is marked by its uniqueness. It
can be recognized by the specific and peculiar combination of language media
and stylistic devices which in their interaction present a certain system. This
system derives its origin from the creative spirit, and elusive though it may seem,
it can nevertheless be ascertained. Naturally, the individual style of a writer will
never be entirely independent of the literary norms and canons of the given
period. When we read novels by Swift or Fielding we can easily detect features
common to both writers. These features are conditioned by the general
1 In linguistics there are two terms now generally recognized and widely used —
Plan of expression and plan of content literary canons of the period and cannot
therefore be neglected. But the adaptations of these canons will always be peculiar
and therefore distinguishable. Alexander Blok said that the style of a writer is so
closely connected with the content of his soul, that the experienced eye can see the
soul through his style, and by studying the form penetrate to the depth of the content.1
The idea of this subtle remark can be interpreted in the following way: —the style of
a writer can be ascertained only by analysis of the form, i.e. language media. To
analyze the form in order to discover the idiosyncrasies of a writer's style is not
an easy, but a rewarding task. Approaches to components of individuality such
as 1) composition of larger-than-the sentence units (see p. 193), 2) rhythm and
melody of utterances, 3) system of imagery, 4) preferences for definite stylistic
devices and their co-relation with neutral language media, 5) interdependence of
the language media employed by the author and the media characteristic of the
personages, are indispensable.
The language of a writer is sometimes regarded as alien to lingvo-stylistics. Here is
what V. M. Zirmunsky writes: "The language of a writer can hardly be considered an
object of lingvo-stylistics. If analyzed outside the problem of style (the style of the
work, the writer, the literary trend or the literary era), the language falls into a mass of
words, collocations and grammatical facts, which taken in isolation will serve as but
unreliable evidence as to the life of the given language in the given period of its
development." 2
However, observations of the ways language means are employed by different
writers, provided no claim is made to defining the individual style as a whole, may
greatly contribute to the investigation of the ontological nature of these means by
throwing light on their potentialities and ways of functioning. The individuality of a
writer's style is shown in a peculiar treatment of language means. -
In this connection it is worth referring to Flaubert's notion on style. He considers
style, a$ it were, non-personal, its merits being dependent on the power of thought
and on the acuteness of the writer's perceptions.3 The same idea, only slightly
modified, is expressed by J. Middleton Murry who said that "A true style must be
unique, if we understand by the phrase 'a true style' a completely adequate expression
in language of a writer's mode of feeling."
In discussing the problem of individual style let us make it clear from the outset
that the problem itself is common ground for literature and linguistics. However, in as
much as language is the only media to accommodate poetic messages, it is necessary
to go at some length into the domain of individual style, it being the testing ground for
language means.
The individual style of an author is frequently identified with the general,
generic term 'style'. But as has already been pointed out, style is a much broader
notion. The individual style of an author is only one of the applications of the
general term 'style'. The analysis of an author's language seems to be the most
important procedure in estimating his individual style. This is obvious not only
because language is the only means available to convey the author's ideas to the
reader in precisely the way he intends, but also because writers unwittingly
contribute greatly to establishing the norms of the literary language of a given
period. In order to compel the language to serve his purpose, the writer draws on
its potential resources in a way different from what we see in ordinary speech.
This peculiarity in the manner of using language means in poetry and emotive prose
has given rise to the notion of S t у I e as Deviance.1 Most illustrative of this tendency
is George Saintsbury's statement made as far back as 1895: "It is in the breach or
neglect of the rules that govern the structure of clauses, sentences, and paragraphs that
the real secret of style consists..."2
The same idea is expressed by G. Vandryes, one of the prominent linguists of today,
who states that "The belles-lettres style is always a reaction against the common
language; to some extent it is a jargon, a literary jargon, which may have varieties."3
The idea has a long history. In the 1920s there arose a trend which was named
formalism in literature and which has crucial relevance to present-day endeavors to
analyze the role of form in embodying matter. Several literary critics representative of
this school as well as a number of writers maintained the idea that language
sometimes imposes intolerable constraints on freedom of thought. Hence all kinds of
innovations • were introduced into the language which sometimes not only disagree
with the established norms of the language, but actually depart from them in principle.
The result in many cases is that the language steps over the threshold of the reader's
ability to perceive the message.
The essential property, indeed, merit of a truly genuine individual style is its
conformity to the established norms of the language system in their idiosyncratic
variations. This uniqueness- of the individual style of an author is not easy to
observe. It is due not only to the peculiar choice of words, sentence-structures
and stylistic devices, but also to the incomparable manner these elements are
combined.
It is hardly possible to underestimate the significance of a minute analysis of the
language of a writer when approaching the general notion of his style. The
language will inevitably reveal some of the author's idiosyncrasies in the use of
language means. Moreover, the author's choice of language means reflects to a
very considerable extent the idea of the work as a whole. Nowhere can the
linguist observe the hidden potentialities of language means more clearly than
through a scrupulous analysis of the ways writers use these means.
But for the linguist the importance of studying an author's individual style is not
confined to penetration into the inner properties of language means and stylistic
devices. The writers of a given period in the development of the literary language
contribute greatly to establishing the system of norms of their period. It is worth
a passing note that the investigations of language norms at a given period are to
a great extent maintained on works of men-of-letters.
One of the essential properties of a truly individual style is its permanence. It has
great powers of endurance. It is easily recognized and never loses its aesthetic value.
The form into which the ideas are wrought assumes a greater significance and
therefore arrests our attention. The language of a truly individual style becomes
deautomatized. It may be said that the form, i.e. the language means themselves,
generate meaning. This will be shown later when we come to analyze the nature and
functions of stylistic devices.
The idea of individual style brings up the problem of the correspondence between
thought and expression. Many great minds have made valuable observations on the
interrelation between these concepts. There is a long list of books in which the
problem is discussed from logical, psychological, philosophical, aesthetic, pragmatic
and purely linguistic points of view. Here we shall only point out the most essential
sides of the problem, viz. a) thought and language are inseparable; b) language is a
means of materializing thought. It follows then that the stylistics cannot neglect this
interrelation when analyzing the individual style of an author. But it is one thing to
take into account a certain phenomenon as a part of a general notion and another thing
to substitute one notion for another. To define style as the result of thinking out into
language would be on the same level as to state that all we say is style. The absurdity
of this statement needs no comment.
The problem of the correspondence between matter and form (which are synonymous
for thought and expression) finds its most effective wording in the following: "To
finish and complete your thought!.. How long it takes, how rare it is, what an
immense delight!.. As soon as a thought has reached its full perfection, the word
springs into being, offers itself, and clothes the thought."1
Naturally such a poetical representation of the creative process should not be taken
literally. There is a certain amount of emotional charge in it and this, as is generally
the case, obscures to some extent the precision which a definition must have.
However, it is well known that the search for adequate expression often takes an
enormous amount of time and mental effort. This idea is brilliantly expressed by V.
Mayakovsky: Поэзия та же добыча радия. В грамм добычи — в год труды.
Изводишь единого -слова ради — тысячи тонн словесной руды.
The genuine character of the individual style of an author is not necessarily manifest
from the tricky or elaborate expressions he uses.
Some forms of the language which pass unobserved even by an experienced reader
due to their seeming insignificance in the general sys-tem of language may be turned
into marked* elements by the creative
Sometimes these 'insignificant' elements of the language scattered in the text are the
bearers of the author's idiosyncratic bias. This is particularly true of the ways
Hemingway, Faulkner and other modern writers have made use of language means,
reflecting, as it were, the general tendency of trends in modern English and American
literature. According to the observations of many a literary critic, the style of modern
literary works is much more emotionally excited, 'disheveled', incoherent than that of
Dickens, Thackeray, Galsworthy.
The language of some ultra-modern writers to some extent reflects the rapidly
increasing tempo of the present industrial and technical revolution. Sensitive to the
pulsation of social life in the country, they experiment with language means so as to
mirror the vibration of extra-linguistic reality.
"in every individual style we can find both the general and the particular. The greater
the author is, the more genuine his style will be. If we succeed in isolating and
examining the choices which the writer prefers, we can define what are the particulars
that make up his style and make it recognizable.
At the same time the linguist will be able to discern those potentialities of language
means which hitherto were latent or, at the most, used only occasionally.
The individuality of a writer is shown not only in the choice of lexical, syntactical and
stylistic means but also in their treatment.1 It is really remarkable how a talented
writer can make us feel the way he wants us to feel. This co-experience is built up so
subtly that the reader remains unaware of the process. It is still stronger when the
aesthetic function begins to manifest itself clearly and unequivocally through a
gradual increase in intensity, in the foreground of certain features, repetitions of
certain syntactical patterns and in the broken rhythm of the author's mode of narrating
events, facts and situations.
What we here call individual style, therefore, is a unique combination of
language units, expressive means and stylistic devices peculiar to a given writer,
which makes that writer's works or even utterances easily recognizable. Hence,
individual style may be likened to a proper name. It. has nominal character. The
analogy is, of course, conventional, but it helps to understand the uniqueness of
the writer's idiosyncrasy. Individual style is based on a thorough knowledge of
the contemporary language and also of earlier periods in its development.
Individual style allows certain justifiable deviations from the rigorous norms. This,
-needless to say, presupposes a perfect knowledge of the invariants of the norms.
Individual style requires to be studied in a course of stylistics in so far as it makes use
of the potentialities of language means, whatever the character of these potentialities
may-be. But it goes without saying that each author's style should be analyzed
separately, which is naturally impossible in a book on general stylistics.
Selection, or deliberate choice of language, and the ways the chosen
5^t^jire treated are the main distinctive features of individual style.
The treatment of the selected elements brings up the problem of the norm. The notion
of the norm mainly refers to the literary language and always presupposes a
recognized or received s t a n d a r d. At the same time it likewise presupposes
vacillations of the received standard.
In order to get a workable definition of the norm for the purposes set in this book and,
particularly, in connection with the issue of individual style, it will be necessary to go
a little bit deeper into the concept.
We shall begin with the following statement made by Academician L. V. Scherba:
"Very often when speaking of norms people forget about stylistic norms (emphasis
added) which are no less, if not more, important than all others."1
This pronouncement clearly indicates that there is no universally accepted norm of the
standard literary language, that there are different norms and that there exist special
kinds of norm which are called stylistic norms. Indeed, it has long been acknowledged
that the norms of the spoken and the written varieties of language differ in more than
one respect (see p. 35). Likewise it is perfectly apparent that the norms of emotive
prose and those of official language are heterogeneous. Even within what is called the
belles-lettres style of language (see p. 33—34) we can observe different norms
between, for instance, poetry and drama.
In this connection I. Vachek of the Prague School of Linguistics states that "it is
necessary to reject the possibility of the existence of an abstract, universal norm
which subordinates written and oral norms in any of the natural languages."2
The same view is expressed by M. A. K. Halliday who states:
"There is no single universally relevant norm, no one set of expectancies to which all
instances may be referred."3
This point of view is not, however, to be taken literally. The fact that there are
different norms for various types and styles of language does not exclude the
possibility and even the necessity of arriving at some abstract notion of norm as an
invariant, which should embrace all variants with their most typical properties. Each
style of language will have its own invariant and variants (see p. 33—34), yet all
styles will have their own invariant, that of the written variety of language. Both oral
^colloquial) and written (literary) varieties can also be integrated into an invariant of
the standard (received) language.
The norm is regarded by some-linguists as "a regulator which controls a set of
variants, the borders of variations and also admissible and inadmissible variants." (E.
A. Makayev)
Here are some other definitions.
"The norm is an assemblage (a set) of stable (i.e. regularly used) means objectively
existing in the language and systematically used."
"A certain conventionally singled out assemblage of realizations of language means
recognized by the language community as a model.'" (Gukhman & Semenyuk)
"The norm is a linguistic abstraction, an idea thought up by linguists and existing only
in their minds." (A. E. Darbyshire)
"There is, of course, no such thing as the norm to be found in actual usage. It is a
concept which must be expressed by means of a formula, and it is a concept about that
which is left of uses of language when all stylistic qualities have been taken away
from them." (A. E. Darbyshire)
The last of the definitions elaborates the idea of the norm as something stripped of its
stylistic qualities. This is not accidental. Many linguists hold the view that anything
which can be labeled stylistic is already a deviation from the established norm (see a
number of the definitions of 'style' given on page 11). They forget that regular
deviations from the norm gradually establish themselves as variants of the norm; the
more so because, as has been stated, 'deviations' of a genuinely stylistic character are
not deviations1 but typified and foregrounded natural phenomena of language usage,
though sometimes carried to the extreme.
So, finally, we can arrive at the conclusion that the norm presupposes the oneness of
the multifarious. There is a conscious attitude to what is well-formed against what is
ill-formed. Well-formness may be represented in a great number of concrete sentences
allowing a considerable range of acceptability.
The norm, therefore, should be regarded as the invariant of the phonemic,
morphological, lexical and syntactical patterns circulating in language-in-action at a
given period of time. Variants of these patterns may sometimes diverge from the
invariant but they never exceed the limits set by the invariant lest it should become
unrecognizable or misleading. The development of any literary language shows that
the variants will always center around the axis of the invariant forms. The variants, as
the term itself suggests, will* never detach themselves from the invariant to such a
degree as to claim entire independence. Yet, nevertheless, there is a tendency to
estimate the value of individual style by the degree it violates the norms of the
language.
As we have already cited, G. Saintsbury considers that the real secret of style reveals
itself in the breach or neglect of the rules that govern the structure of clauses,
sentences, and paragraphs (see p. 15). This conception is aptly illustrated theoretically
in the Theory of Deviance mentioned above (p. 15) and practically- in the works of
certain modern poets like E. E. Cummings and others who try to break away entirely
from the established and recognized invariants and variants of the given norm. They
introduce various patterns
which are almost undecodable and consequently require special devices for grasping
the messages.l -
Quite a different point of view is expressed by E. Sapir, who states:
"...the greatest — or shall we say the most satisfying — literary artists, the
Shakespeare and Heinz, are those who have known subconsciously how to fit or trim
the deeper intuition to the provincial accents of their daily speech. In them there is no
effect of strain. Their personal intuition appears as a completed synthesis of the
absolute art of intuition and the innate, specialized art-of the linguistic medium."2
This idea is common to many stylists who hold that real and genuine individuality of
style will reveal itself not in the breach of the rules, in other words, not in deviating
from the accepted norms, but in the peculiar treatment of them. However, it must be
repeated that some deviations, if they are motivated, may occur here and there in the
text. Moreover, let us repeat once more that through constant repetitions such de-
viations may become legitimate variants of the norm and establish themselves as
members of the language system.
The problem of variants of the norm, or deviations from the norm of the literary
language, has received widespread attention among linguists and is central to some of
the major current controversies. It is the inadequacy of the concept 'norm' that causes
the controversy. At every period in the development of a literary language there must
be a tangible norm which first of all marks the difference between literary and non-
literary language. Then there must be a clear-cut distinction between the invariant of
the norm (as an abstraction) and its variants (in concrete texts). As will be seen later
almost every functional style of language is marked by a specific use of language
means, thus establishing its own norms which, however, are subordinated to the
norm-invariant and which do not violate the general notion of the literary norm.
One of the most characteristic and essential properties of the norm is its flexibility. A
too rigorous adherence to the norm brands the writer's language as pedantic, no matter
whether it is a question of speech or writing. But on the other hand, neglect of the
norm will always be regarded with suspicion as being an attempt to violate the
established signals of the language code which safeguard and accelerate the process of
communication. At the same time, a free handling of the norms may be regarded as a
permissible application of the flexibility of the norm.
It must be acknowledged that to draw a line of demarcation between facts that
illustrate the flexibility of the norm and those which show its violation is not so easy.
The extremes are apparent, but border cases are blurred. Thus "footsteps on the sand
of war" (E. E. Cummings) or "below a time" (see other examples on p. 162—163) are
clearly violations of the accepted norms of word-building or word-combinations.
But "silent thunder", "the ors and ifs" and the like may from one point of view be
regarded as a practical application of the principle of flexibility of the norm and from
another—as a violation of the semantic and morphological norms of the English
language. Variants interacting with the rigorous rules of usage may reveal the
potentialities of the language for enrichment to a degree which no artificial coinage
will ever be able to reach. This can be explained by the fact that semantic changes and
particularly syntactical ones are rather slow in process and they reject any sudden
imposition of innovations on the code already in action. There is, a constant process
of gradual change taking place in the forms of language and their meaning at any
given period in the development of the language. It is therefore most important to
master the received standard of the given period in the language in order to
comprehend the correspondence of this or that form to the recognized norm of the
period.
Some people think that one has to possess what is called a "feeling for the language"
in order to be able to understand the norm of the language and its possible variants.
But this feeling is deeply rooted in the unconscious knowledge of the laws according
to which a language functions, and even in its history, which explains much
concerning the direction it has progressed. When the feeling of the norm, which
grows with the knowledge of the laws of the language, is instilled in the mind, one
begins to appreciate the beauty of justifiable fluctuations.
Paradoxical though it may seem, the norm can be grasped, nay, established, only
when there are deviations from it. It is therefore best perceived in combination with
something that breaks it. In this connection the following remarks made by L". V.
Scherba are worth quoting:
"... in order to achieve a free command of a literary language, even one's own, one
must read widely, giving preference to those writers who deviate but slightly from the
norm."
"Needless to say, all deviations are to some extent normalized: not every existing
deviation from the norm is good; at any rate, not in all circumstances. The feeling for
what is permissible and what is not, and mainly—a feeling for the inner sense of these
deviations (and senseless ones, as has been pointed out, are naturally bad), is
developed through an extensive study of our great Russian literature in all its variety,
but of course in its best examples."1 •" "
"I say justifiable or "motivated" because bad writers frequently make use of
deviations from the norm which are not motivated or justified by the subject matter—
that is why they are considered bad writers."2
While dealing with various C9nceptions of the term 'style', we must also mention a
commonly accepted connotation of style as establishment of language. This
understanding of style is upheld in some of the scientific papers on literary criticism.
Language and style as embellishment are regarded as separate bodies. According to
this idea language can easily dispense with style, because style here is likened to the
trimming on a dress. Moreover, style as embellishment of language ^viewed as
something that hinders understanding. It is, as it were,
Спорные вопросы русской грамматики.— “Русский язык в школе”. 1*' 1у39, №
1, с. 10. Ibid.
alien to language and therefore needs to be excluded from the observations of
language scholars. That is why almost all contemporary books on grammar and
general linguistics avoid problems of style or, at most, touch upon them in passing.
The notion of style as embellishment presupposes the use of bare language forms
deprived of any stylistic devices, of any expressive means deliberately employed. In
this connect ion Middleton Murry writes:
"The notion that style is applied ornament had its origin, no doubt, in the tradition of
the school of rhetoric in Europe, and in its place in their teaching. The conception was
not so monstrous as it is today. For the old professors of rhetoric were exclusively
engaged in instructing their pupils how to expound an argument or arrange a pleading.
Their classification "of rhetorical devices was undoubtedly formal and extravagant...
The conception of style as applied ornament ... is the most popular of all delusions
about style."1
The notion of style as embellishment of language is completely erroneous. No matter
how style is treated, it is the product of a writer's deliberate intention to frame his
ideas in such a manner as will add something important, something indispensable in
order to secure an adequate realization of his ideas. To call style embellishment is the
same thing as to strip it of its very essence, that is, to render unnecessary those
elements which secure the manifold application of the language units.
No doubt there are utterances which contain all kinds of unmotivated stylistic means.
Moreover, there are writers whose style abounds in such utterances. But they are
either those who, admiring the form, use it at the expense of the matter, or those who,
by experimenting with the potentialities of language means, try to find new ways of
rendering their ideas. In both cases the reader is faced with difficulties in decoding the
message and this greatly hinders understanding.
A very popular notion of style among teachers of language is that style is t e с h n i q
u e of expression. In this sense style is generally difined as the ability to write clearly,
correctly and in a manner calculated to interest the reader. Though the last
requirement is not among the indispensable, it is still found in many practical manuals
of style, most of which can be lumped together under the title "Composition and
Style". This is a purely utilitarian point of view of the issue in question. If this were
true, style could be taught. Style in this sense of expression studies4he normalized
forms of the language. The teaching process aims at lucidity of expression. It sets up a
number of rules as to how to speak and write well and generally discards all kinds of
deviations as being violations of the norm. The norm in these works is treated as
something self-sustained and, to a very great extent, inflexible.
The utilitarian approach to the problem is also felt in the following statement by E. J.
Dunsany, an Irish dramatist and writer of short stories:
"When you can with difficulty write anything clearly, simply, and
emphatically, then, provided that the difficulty is not apparent to the reader, that is
style. When you can do it easily, that is genius."
V. 'G. Belinsky also distinguished two aspects of style, making a hard and fast
distinction between the technical and the creative power of any utterance.
'To. language merits belong correctness, clearness and fluency," he states, "qualities
which can be achieved by any talentless writer by means of labour and routine."
"But style (слог) — is talent itself, the very thought."1
Almost the same point of view is held both by A. N. Gvozdev and F. L. Lucas.
Gvozdev states that "Stylistics has a practical value, teaching students to master the
language, working out a conscious approach to language"2 and Lucas declares that
the aims of a course in style are: a) to teach to write and speak well, b) to improve the
style of the writer, and c) to show him means of improving his ability to express his
ideas.3
It is important to note that what we call the practical approach to the problem of style
should by no means be regarded as something erroneous. The practical side of the
problem can hardly be over-estimated. But should it be called style? The ability to
write clearly and emphatically can and should be taught. This is the domain of
grammar, which today rules out the laws and means of composition. The notion of
style cannot be reduced to the merely practical aspect because in such a case a
theoretical background for practical „aims cannot be worked out. Moreover, stylistics
as a branch of linguistics demands investigation into the nature of such language
means as add aesthetic value to the utterance.
Just as the interrelation between lexicology and lexicography is accepted to be that of
theory and practice, so theoretical and practical stylistics should be regarded as two
interdependent branches of linguistic science. Each of these branches may develop its
own approach and methods of investigation of linguistic data.
The term 'style' is widely used in literature to signify literary genre. Thus, we speak of
classical style or the style of classicism, realistic style, the style of romanticism and so
on. The use of the word 'style' has sometimes been carried to unreasonable lengths,
thus blurring the terminological aspect of the word. It is applied to various kinds of
literary works: the fable, novel, ballad, story, etc. The term is also used to denote the
way the plot is dealt with, the arrangement of the parts of literary composition to form
the whole,4he place and the role of the author in describing and depicting events.
It is suggested in this work that the term * style' be used to refer to purely linguistic
facts, thus avoiding the possible ambiguity in its application. After all the origin of the
word 'style' is a justification for the suggestion. However, we are fully aware of the
fact that such a pro-
position will be regarded as an encroachment on the rights of literature to have its
own terms in spite of the fact that they are the same as terms in linguistics.
Now let us pass to the discussion of an issue the importance of which has to be kept
clearly in mind throughout the study of stylistics, that is the dichotomy of language
and s p e e с h or, to phrase the issue differently, language- as -a-s у stem and
language-in-action. It deserves at least a cursory discussion here not only because the
issue has received a good deal of attention in recent publications on linguistic matters,
but also because, as will be seen later, many stylistic devices stand out against the
background of the distinctive features of these two above-mentioned notions. The
simplicity of the issue is to some extent deceptive. On the surface it seems that
language-in-action takes the signs of language-as-a-system and arranges them to
convey the intended message. But the fact is that the signs of the latter undergo such
transformations in the former that sometimes they assume a new quality imposing
new signification on the signs of the language code. There is compelling evidence in
favour of the theory which demands that the two notions should be regarded in their
unity, allowing, however, that each of them be subjected to isolated observation.
Language-as-a-system may figuratively be depicted as an exploiter of language-in-
action. All rules and patterns of language which are collected and classified in works
on grammar, phonetics, lexicology and stylistics first appear in language-in-action,
whence they are generalized and framed as rules and patterns of language-as-a-
system.
It is important here to call attention to the process of formation of scientific notions.
Whenever we notice a phenomenon that can be singled out from a mass of language
facts we give it a name, thus abstracting the properties of the phenomenon. The
phenomena then being collected and classified are hallowed into the ranks of the units
of language-as-a-system. It must be pointed out that most observations of the nature
and functioning of language units have been made on material presented by the
written variety of language. It is due to the fixation of speech in writing that scholars
of language began to disintegrate the continuous flow of speech and subject the
functioning of its components to analysis.
So it is with stylistic devices. Being born in speech they have gradually become
recognized as certain patterned structures: phonetic, morphological, lexical,
phraseological and syntactical, and duly taken away from their mother, Speech, and
made independent members of the family, Language.
The same concerns the issue of functional styles of language. Once they have been
recognized as independent, more or less closed subsystems of the standard literary
language, they should be regarded not as styles of speech but as styles of language,
inasmuch as they can be patterned as to the kinds of interrelation between the
component parts in each of the styles. Moreover, these functional styles have been
subjected to various classifications, which fact shows that the phenomena now belong
to the domain of language-as-a-system.
However, it must constantly be born in mind that the units which belong to this
domain are abstract in their nature. Functional styles re merely models deprived of
material substance, schemes which can be materialized in language forms. When
materialized in language forms they 'become practical realizations of abstract schemes
and signify the variants of the corresponding invariants of the models.
This relatively new science, stylistics, will be profitable to those who have a sound
linguistic background. The expressive means of English and the stylistic devices used
in the literary language can only be understood (and made use of) when a thorough
knowledge of the language-as-a-system, i.e. of the phonetic, grammatical and lexical
data of the given language, has been attained.
It goes without saying that the more observant the student is, the easier it will be for
him to appreciate the peculiar usage of the language media.
Justification for bringing this problem up is that some language scholars frighten
students out of studying stylistics on the ground that this subject may effectively be
studied only on the basis of a perfect command of the language. Such scholars, aware
of the variables and unknowns, usually try in their teaching to sidestep anything that
may threaten well-established theories concerning the laws of language. Alertness to
'the facts of language-in-action should be inherent, but it can be developed to a degree
necessary for an aesthetic evaluation of the works of men-of-letters. And for this
purpose it is first of all necessary to get a clear idea of what constitutes the notions '
expressive means' and 'stylistic devices'.

2. EXPRESSIVE MEANS (EM) AND STYLISTIC DEVICES (SD)


In linguistics there are different terms to den _by which utterances are foreground, i.e.
made more conspicuous, more "effective and therefore imparting some additional
information. They are called expressive means, stylistic means, stylistic markers,
stylistic devices, tropes, "figures of speech and other names. All these terms are used
indiscriminately and are set against those means which we shall conventionally call
neutral. Most linguists distinguish ordinary (also: substantial, referential) semantic
and stylistic differences in meaning. 58), others besides these contain specif. lc.
meanings which may be called sty I i s t i c. Such meanings go alongside primary
meanings and, as it were, are superimposed on them.
Stylistic meanings are so to say deautomatized. As is known, the process of
automatization, i.e. a speedy and subconscious use of language data, is one of the
indispensable ways of making communication easy and quickly decodable.
But when a stylistic meaning is involved, the process of deautomatization checks the
reader's perception of the language. His attentionis arrested by a peculiar use of
language media and he begins, to the best of his ability, to decipher it. He becomes
aware of the form in which the utterance is cast and as the result of this process a
twofold use of the language medium—ordinary* and stylistic—becomes apparent to
him. As will be shown later this application of language means in some cases
presents no difficulty. It is so marked that even a layman can see it, as when a
metaphor or a simile is used. But in some texts grammatically redundant forms or
hardly noticeable forms, essential for the expression of stylistic meanings which carry
the particular additional information desired, may present a difficulty.
What this information is and how it is conveyed to the mind of. the reader can be
explored only when a concrete communication is subjected to observation, which will
be done later in the analyses of various stylistic devices arid in the functioning of
expressive means.
In this connection the following passage from "Investigating English Style" by D.
Crystal and D. Davy is of interest: "Features which are stylistically significant display
different kinds and degrees of distinctiveness in a text: of two features, one may occur
only twice in a text, the other may occur thirty times,— or a feature might be uniquely
identifying in the language, only ever occurring in one variety, as opposed to a feature
which is distributed throughout many or all varieties in different frequencies."1
What then is a stylistic device? Why is it so important to distinguish it from the
expressive and neutral means of the language? To answer . these questions it is
first of all necessary to elucidate the notion 'expressiveness'.
The category of expressiveness has long been the subject of heated discussions among
linguists. In etimological sense expressiveness may be understood as a kind of
intensification of an utterance or of a part of it depending on the position in the
utterance of the means that manifest this category and what these means are.
But somehow lately the notion of expressiveness has been confused with another
notion, viz. emotiveness. Emotiveness, and corresponidingly the emotive elements of
language, are what reveal the emotions of writer or speaker. But these elements are
not direct manifestations ^f"the*^molT6ns—they are just the echoes of real emotions,
echoes which have undergone some intellectual recasting. They are designed to
awaken co-experience in the mind of the reader.
Expressiveness a broader notion than emotiveness and is by no means to be reduced
to the latter. Emotiveness is an integral part of expressiveness and, as a matter of fact,
occupies a predominant position in the category of expressiveness. But there are
media in language which aim simply at logical emphasis of certain parts of the
utterance. They do not evoke any intellectual representation of feeling but merely
serve the purpose of verbal actualization of the utterance. Thus, for example, when we
say "It was in July 1975 that the cosmos experiment of a joint American-Soviet flight
took place" we make the utterance logically em-
hatic by a syntactical device which will be described in due course. The same thing is
to be observed in these sentences:
(1) Mr. Smith was an extremely unpleasant person.
(2) Never will he go to that place again.
(3) In rushed the soldiers!
(4) It took us a very, very long time to get there.
In sentence (1) expressiveness is achieved by lexical means—the word 'extremely'. In
(2) and (3) by syntactical means—different types of inversion. In (4) the emphasis is
materialized by the repetition of the word 'very7 which is in itself a word used to
intensify the utterance.
But in the sentences:
(1) Isn't she cute!
(2) Fool that he was!
(3)" This goddam window won't open!
(4) We buddy-buddied together.
(5) This quickie tour didn't satisfy our curiosity, we can register positive emotiveness,
in as much as there are elements that evoke certain representations of the feeling of
the speaker. In sentence (1) and (2) there are syntactical means which evoke this
effect. In (3) and (4) there are lexical means—'goddam', 'buddy-buddied' (=were on
very friendly relations); in (5)—a morphological device (the suffix—te).
It must be noted that to draw a hard and fast distinction between logical and emotional
emphasis is not always possible. The fact is that the logical and the emotional
frequently overlap. A too strong logical emphasis may colour the utterance with
emotional elements, thus causing a kind of expressiveness which is both logical and
emotive. However, the extremes are clearly set one against the other, ...,,^ /^
Now it should be possible to define the notiono^xpressivemeans^TheC^/^и
expressive means of a lafigtraf are those pKbnetfc^'mofplioTogical, word- '
Building, lexical, phraseological and syntactical forms which exist In language-as-a-
system for the purpose of logical and/or emotional intensification of the utterance.
These intensifying forms, wrought by social usage and recognized by their semantic
function, have been singled * out in grammars, courses in phonetics and dictionaries
(including phraseological ones) as having special functions in making the utterances
emphatic. Some of them are normalized, and good dictionaries label them as
"intensifies". In most cases they have corresponding neutral synonymous forms.
Compare, for example, the following pairs:
(1). He shall do it! = I shall make him do it.
(2) Isn't she cute! = She is very nice, isn't she?
Expressiveness may also be achieved by compositional devices in utterances
comprising a number of sentences—in syntactical wholes and in paragraphs. This will
be shown in the chapter on syntactical stylistic devices.
The most powerful expressive means of, anxJMguag6 are phonetic. The human voice
can indicate subtle nuances of meaning that no other means can attain. Pitch, melody,
stress, pausation, drawling out certain syllables, whispering, a sing-song manner and
other ways of using the voice are much more effective than any other means in
intensifying an utterance emotionally or logically. In the language course of phonetics
the patterns of emphatic intonation have been worked out, but many devices have so
far been little investigated.
Paradoxical though-it may seem, many of these means, the effect of which rests on a
peculiar use of the voice, are banned from the linguistic domain. But there has
appeared a new science—"paralinguistic"—of which all these devices are the
inventory. The writer of this book holds the opinion that all the vocal peculiarities
enumerated .should be recognized as legitimate members of the phonetic structure of
language and that therefore the term * paralinguistics' should be done away with.
Professor Seymour Chatman introduces the term 'phonostylistics' and defines it as a
subject the purpose of which is "the study of the ways in which an author elects to
constrain the phonology of the language beyond the normal requirements of the
phonetic system."1 As can be inferred from this quotation, phonetic expressive means
and particularly phonetic stylistic devices (seep. 123) are not deviations from "the
normal requirements of the phonetic system" but a way of actualizing the typical in
the given text. Vocal phenomena such as drawling, whispering, etc. should be
regarded as parts of the phonemic system on the same level as pitch, stress and tune.
In this part of the book where general ideas are presented in an introductory aspect
only, there is no need to go deeper into the issue of what constitutes the notion
expressive means of the phonetic system. The reader is referred to part III "Phonetic
Expressive Means and Stylistic Devices" (p. 123).
Passing over to some preliminary remarks on the morphological expressive means of
the English language, we must - point to what is now a rather impoverished set of
media to which the quality of expressiveness can be attributed. However, there are
some which alongside their ordinary grammatical function display a kind of emphasis
and thereby are promoted to EMs. These are, for example, The Historical Present; the
use of shall in the second and third person; the use of some demonstrative pronouns
with an emphatic meaning as those, them ("Those gold candles fixed in heaven's
air"—Shakespeare); 'some cases of nominalization, particularly when conversion of
verbal stems is alien to the meaning of the verbs or the nominalization of phrases and
sentences and a ituniber of other morphological forms, which acquire expressiveness
in the context, though this capacity is not yet registered as one of the latent properties
of such forms.
Among the w о r d - b и i I d in g me a n s we find a great many forms which serve to
make the utterance more expressive by intensifying some of their semantic and/or
grammatical properties. The diminutive suffixes,^.(-fe), -let, e.g. 'dearie', 'sonny',
'auntie', “streamfef, add some emotional colouring to the words. We may also refer to
what are called neologisms and nonce-words formed with non-productive suffixes
with Greek roots, as “mistressmansWp', 'cleanorama' (see p. 92). Certain affixes have
gained such a power of expressiveness that they begin functioning as separate words,
absorbing all of the generalizing meaning they attach to different roots, as, for
example, 'isms and olo-
At the lexical I e v Јj.„there are a great many words which due to theiiHiTlTrf^1ф^
constitute a special layer (see chart on p 71). There are words with emotive meaning
only (mteijections), words-..jzdlich,.hays... both..,'referential and emotive meaning
(epithets), words which still retain a twofold meaning: denotative and connotative
(love, hate, sympathy), words_hЈloiigingJ^^
words, or to poetic or archaic layers. The expressive power of these words cannot be
doubted, especially when they are compared with the neutral vocabulary.
All kinds of set phrases (phraseological units) generally possess the property of
expressiveness. Set phrases, catch words, proverbs, sayings comprise a considerable
number of language units which serve to make speech emphatic, mainly from the
emotional point of view. Their use in every-day speech is remarkable for the
subjective emotional colouring they produce.
It must be noted here that due to the generally emotional character of colloquial
language, all kinds of set expressions are natural in everyday speech. They are, as it
were, part and parcel of this form of human intercourse. But when they appear in
written texts their expressiveness comes to the fore because written texts, as has
already been pointed out, are logically directed unless, of course, there is a deliberate
attempt to introduce an expressive element in the utterance. The set expression is a
time-honoured device to enliven speech, but this device, it must be repeated, is more
sparingly used in written'texts. In everyday speech one can often hear such phrases as:
"Well, it will only add fuel to the fire" and the like, which in fact is synonymous to
the neutral: "It will only make the situation worse."
Finally, at the syntactical level there are many constructions which, when set against
synonymous neutral ones, will reveal a certain degree of logical or emotional
emphasis.
In order to be able to distinguish between expressive means and stylistic devices, to
which we now pass, it is necessary to bear in mind that expressive means are concrete
facts of language. They are studied in the respective language manuals, though it must
be once again regretfully stated that some grammarians iron out all elements carrying
expressiveness from their works, as they consider this quality irrelevant to the theory
of language.
Stylistics studies the expressive means of language, but from a special angle. It takes
into account the modifications of meanings which various expressive means
undergo when they are used in different functional styles. Expressive means have
a kind of radiating effect. They noticeably colour the whole of the utterance no
matter whether they are logical or emotional.
What then is a stylistic device? It is a conscious and intentional intensification of
some typical structural and/or semantic property of a language unit (neutral or
expressive) prompted to a generalized status and thus Becoming a generative model,
It follows then that an SD is an abstract pattern, a mould into which any content can
be poured. As is known, the typical is not only that which is in frequent use, but that
also which reveals the essence of a phenomenon with the greatest and most evident
force. • -
SDs function in texts as marked units. They always..carry some kind of additionjff^^^
That is why the meffiod~ of free variation employed in descriptive linguistics1 cannot
be used in stylistics because any substitution may cause damage to the semantic and
aesthetic aspect of the utterance.
A. W. De Groot points out the significance of SDs in the following passage:
"Each of the aesthetically relevant features of the text serves to create a feature of the
gestalt2 of the poem. In this sense the relevant linguistic features may be said to
function or operate as gestalt factors."3
The idea of the function of SDs is expressed most fully by V. M. tir-munsky in the
following passage:
"The justification and the sense of each device lies in the wholeness of the artistic
impression which the work of art as a self-contained thing produces on us. Each
separate aesthetic fact, each poetical device (emphasis added) finds its place in the
system, the sounds and sense of the words, the syntactical structures, the scheme of
the plot, the compositional purport — all in equal degree express this wholeness and
find justification."4
The motivated use of SDs in a genuine work of emotive literature is hot easily
discernible, though they are used in some kind of relation to the facts, events, or ideas
dealt with in the artistic message. Most SDs display an application of two meanings:
the ordinary one, in.other words, the meaning (lexical or structural) which has already
been established in the language-as-a-system, and a special meaning which is
superimposed on the unit by the text, i.e. a meaning which appears in the language-in-
action.
Sometimes, however, the twofold application of a lexical unit is accomplished not by
the interplay of two meanings but by two words (generally synonyms) one of which is
perceived against the background of the -other. This will be shown in subsequent
chapters.
The conscious transformation of a language fact into a stylistic device has been
observed by certain linguists whose interests in linguistic theory have gone beyond
the boundaries of grammar. Thus A. A. Poteb-nya writes:
1 By 'free variation' is meant the substitution of one form by another without any
change of meaning.
2 'Gestalt' is a term in psychology which denotes a phenomenon as a whole, a kind of
oneness, as something indivisible into component parts. The term has been borrowed
by linguistics to denote the inseparability of the whole of a poetic work.
"As far back as in ancient Greece and Rome and with few exceptions n to the present
time, the definition of a figurative use of a word has been based on the contrast
between ordinary speech, used in its own, natural, primary meaning, and transferred
speech."1
The contrast which the author of the passage quoted points to, can not always be
clearly observed. In some SDs it can be grasped immediately in others it requires a
keen eye and sufficient training to detect it. It must be emphasized that the contrast
reveals itself most clearly when our mind perceives twofold meanings simultaneously.
The meanings run parallel: one of them taking precedence over the other.
Thus in "The night has swallowed him up" the word 'swallow' has W°a) referential
and b) contextual (to make disappear, to make vanish). The meaning (b) takes
precedence-over the referential (a).
The same can be observed in the sentence: "Is there not blood enough upon your
penal code that more must be poured forth to ascend to Heaven and testify against
you?" (Byron)
The interrogative form, i.e. the structural meaning of a question, runs parallel with the
imposed affirmative thought, i.e. the structural meaning of a statement, and it is
difficult to decide which of the two structural meanings—the established or the
superimposed—takes the upper hand.
In the following chapters where detailed analysis of the different SDs will be carried
out, we shall try, where possible, to consider which of the two meanings realized
simultaneously outweighs the other.
The birth of SDs is a natural process in the development of language media.
Language units which are used with more or less definite aims of communication
in various passages of writing and in various functional styles begin gradually to
develop new features, a wider range, of functions, thus causing polyfunctionality.
Hence they can be presented as invariants with concrete variables.
The interrelation between expressive means and stylistic devices can be worded
in terms of the theory of information. Expressive means have a greater degree of
predictability than.stylistic devices. The latter may appear in an environment
which may seem alien and therefore be only slightly or not at all predictable.
Expressive means, on the contrary, follow the natural course of thought,
intensifying it by means commonly used in language. It follows that SDs carry
a^g^a^amoyjt of information and therefore require a certain effort to decode
their meaning and purport. SDs must be regarded as a special code which has to
be well known to the reader in order to be deciphered easily.
The notion of language as a special code is now very much practiced in the analyses
of the functions of language units. E. Stankievicz sees
a kind of code-switching when SDs are employed. He also acknowledges
j| the twofold application of the language code when "... the neutral,
К basic code serves as the background against which the elements of an-
p other system acquire expressive prominence within the context of the basic
system."1 SDs are used sparingly in emotive prose, lest they should overburden the
text with implications thus hindering the process of decoding. They are abundantly
used in poetry and especially so in some trends of poetical tradition, consequently
retarding mental absorption of the content.2
Not every stylistic use of a language fact will come under the term SD, although some
usages call forth a stylistic meaning. There are practically unlimited possibilities of
presenting any language fact in what is vaguely called its stylistic use. For a language
fact to be promoted to the level of an SD there is one indispensable requirement,
which has already been mentioned above, viz. that it should so be used to call forth a
twofold perception of lexical or/and structural meanings. Even a nonce use can and
very often does create the necessary conditions for the appearance of an SD. But these
are only the prerequisites for the appearance of an SD. Only when a newly minted
language unit which materializes the twofold application of meanings occurs
repeatedly in different environments, can it spring into life as an SD and subsequently
be registered in the system of SDs of the given language.
Therefore it is necessary to distinguish between a stylistic use of a language unit,
which acquires what we call a stylistic meaning, and a stylistic device, which is the
realization of an already well-known abstract scheme designed to achieve a particular
artistic effect. Thus many facts of English grammar are said to be used with stylistic
meaning, for example, the morphological expressive means mentioned on p. 28. But
most of them have not yet been raised to the level of SDs because they remain
unsystematized and so far perceived as nonce uses. They are, as it were, still
wandering in the vicinity of the realm of SDs without being admitted into it. This can
indirectly be proved by the fact that fhey have no special name in the English
language system of SDs. An exception, perhaps, is the Historical Present which meets
the requirements of an SD.
So faf the system of stylistic devices has not been fully recognized as legitimate
members of the general system of language. This is mainly due to the above-
mentioned conception of grammatical theory as dealing exclusively with a perfectly
organized and extremely rigid scheme of language rules, precise and accurate in its
application.

3. GENERAL NOTES ON FUNCTIONAL STYLES OF LANGUAGE


We have defined the object,of linguo-stylistics as the study of the nature, functions
and structure^ SDs and EMs, on the one hand, and the study of the functional styles,
on the other. In section 2 of this Introduction (p. 25) we have outlined the general
principles on which the notions of EMs and SDs rest.
It is now time to outline the general principles on which functional styles rest. A
functional style of language is a system of interrelated language means which
serves a definite aim in communication. A functional style is thus to be regarded
as the product of a certain concrete task set by the sender of the message.
Functional styles appear mainly in the literary standard of a language.
The literary standard of the English language, like that of any other developed
language, is not so homogeneous as it may seem. In fact the standard English literary
language in the course of its development has fallen into several subsystems each of
which has acquired its own peculiarities which are typical of the given functional
style. The members of the language community, especially those who are sufficiently
trained and responsive to language variations, recognize these styles as independent
wholes. The peculiar choice of language means is primarily predetermined by the aim
of the communication with the result that a more or less closed system is built up. One
set of language media stands in opposition to other sets .of language media with other
aims, and these other sets have other choices and arrangements of language means.
What we here call functional styles are also called registers or d i s с о u r s e s.
In the English literary standard we distinguish the following major functional styles
(hence FS):
1) The language of belles-lettres.
2) The language of publicistic literature.
3) The language of newspapers.
4) The language of scientific prose.
5) The language of official documents.
As has already been mentioned, functional styles are the product of the development
of the written variety of language. l Each FS may be characterized by a number of
distinctive features, leading or subordinate, constant or changing, obligatory or
optional. Most of the FSs, however, are perceived as independent wholes due to a
peculiar combination and interrelation of features common to all (especially when
taking into account syntactical arrangement) with the leading ones of each FS.
Each FS is subdivided into a number of substyles. These represent varieties of the
abstract invariant. Each variety has basic features common to all the varieties of the
given FS and peculiar features typical of this variety alone. Still a substyle can, in
some cases, deviate so far from the invariant that in its extreme it may even break
away.
We clearly perceive the following substyles of the five FSs given above.
The belles-lettres FS has the following substyles:
япя ha ?“ 5?s not mean, however, that the spoken communications lack individuality
al stvle ' stinct stYles of their own. Folklore, for example, is undoubtedly a function-
therefore plasmucl:1.as it has a definite aim in communicating its facts and ideas, and
is our attention^ r*Zec* ^У а deliberately chosen language means. Here we shall
confine dard. Those t *° s^udy of the functional styles bred within the literary written
stan-" of mouth suh eS °^ literature which began life purely as speech, were passed on
by word lore. ' ec*Uently perpetuated in writing, are left to the care of specialists in
folk-
a) the language style of poetry; b) the language style of emotive prose; c) the
language style of drama.
The publicistic F S comprises the following substyles: a) the language style of
oratory; b) the language style of essays;
c) the language style of feature articles in newspapers and journals.*
The newspaper FS falls into a) the language style of brief news items and
communiques; b) the language style of newspaper headings and c) the language
style of notices and advertisements.
The scientific prose FS also has three divisions: a) the language style of
humanitarian sciences; b) the language style of "exact" | sciences; c) the
language style of popular scientific prose. J
The official document FS can be divided into four varieties: a) the language style
of diplomatic documents; b) the language \ style of business documents; c) the
language style of legal .documents; ]
d) the language style of military documents. ]
The classification presented here is by no means arbitrary. It is the result of long and
minute observations of factual material in which not • only peculiarities of language
usage were taken into account but also extralinguistic data, in particular the purport of
the communication. However, we admit that this classification is not proof against
criticism. Other schemes may possibly be elaborated and highlighted by different
approaches to the problem of functional styles. The classification of FSs Jj is not a
simple matter and any discussion of it is bound to reflect more li than one angle .of
vision. Thus, for example, some stylicists consider that newspaper articles (including
feature articles) should be classed M under the functional style of newspaper
language, not under the language м of publicistic literature. Others insist on including
the language of every- ' day-life discourse into the system of functional styles. Prof.
Budagov singles out only two main functional styles: the language of science and that
of emotive literature.1
It is inevitable, of course, that any classification should lead to some kind of
simplification of the ^acts classified, because items areconsid-ered in isolation.
Moreover, substyles assume, as it were, the aspect of closed systems. But no
classification, useful though it may be from the theoretical point of view, should be
allowed to blind us as to the conventionality of classification in general. When
analysing concrete texts, we discover that the boundaries between them sometimes
become less and less discernibk^Thus, for instance, the signs of difference are
sometimes almost imperceptible between poetry and emotive prose; between
newspaper FS and publicistic FS; between a popular scientific article and a scientific
treatise; between an essay and a scientific article. But the extremes are apparent from
the ways language units are used both structurally and semantically. Language serves
a variety of needs and these needs have given birth to the principles on which our
classification is based and which in their turn presuppose the choice and combination
of language means.
We presume that the reader has noticed the insistent use of the ex-cTion 'language
style' or “style of language' in the above classification. This is done in order to
emphasize the idea that in this work the word 'style' is applied purely to linguistic
data.
The classification given above to our mind adequately represents the facts of the
standard English language. For detailed analyses of FSs ее chapter VI of this book (p.
249), where in addition to arguments for placing this or that FS in a given group,
illustrations with commentary will be found.

4. VARIETIES OF LANGUAGE
The functioning of the literary language in various spheres of human activity
and with different aims of communication has resulted in its differentiation. This
differentiation is predetermined by two distinct factors, namely, the actual situation in
within the language is being used amLthe aim of the communication.
The actual situation of the communication has evolved two varieties of language—t
he s p о k e n a^d ^/1Д_оу r / ft en. The varying aims of the communication have
caused the literary language to fall into a number of self-sufficient systems
(functional styles of language).
Of the two varieties of language, diachronically the spoken is primary and the
written is secondary. Each of these varieties has developed its own features
md_4uaHties which in many ways may be regarded as opposed to each other.
The situation in which the spoken variety of language is used and in which it
develops, can be described concisely as the presence of an interlocutor. The written
variety, on the contrary, presupposes the absence of an interlocutor. The spoken
language is maintained in the form of a dialogue, the written in the form of a
monologue. The spoken language, has a considerable advantage over the written,
in that the human voice, comes into play. This is a powerful means of modulating
the utterance, as are all kinds of gestures, which, together with the intonation,
give additional information.
The written language has to seek means to compensate for what it lacks.
Therefore the written utterance will inevitably be more diffuse, more
explanatory. In other words, it has to produce an enlarged representation of the
communication in order to be explicit enough.
The forms of the written language replace those of the spoken language when
dissemination of ideas is the purpose in view. It is the written variety of language
with its careful organization and deliberate, choice of words and mistruHior^ and
educational influence on a wMe and scattered public.
Jn fRe r6rig"process^TTI^uncfioning, the written language has acquired its own
characteristic features emanating from the need to am-P"ty the utterance, which, is an
essential point in the written language.
The gap between the spoken and written varieties of language, wider
narrower at different periods in the development of the literary lan-
guage, will always remain apparent due to the difference in circumstances in
which the two are used. Here is an example showing the difference. "Marvellous
beast, a-fox. Great places for wild life, these wooded chines; so steep you can't disturb
them—pigeons, jays, woodpeckers, rabbits, foxes, hares, pheasants—every mortal
thing."
Its written counterpart would run as follows: 'What a marvellous beast a fox is! These
wooded chines are splendid places for wild life. They are so steep that one can't
disturb anything. Therefore one can see every imaginable creature here—pigeons,
jays, woodpeckers, rabbits, foxes, hares and pheasants/
The use of the peculiarities of the spoken variety in the written language, or vice
versa, the peculiarities of the written language in lively speech, will always produce a
ludicrous effect. In this connection A. S. Pushkin wrote:
"The written language is constantly being enlivened by expressions born in
conversation but must not give up what it has acquired in the course of centuries. To
use the spoken language only, means not to know the language."1
It must be borne in mind that in the belles-lettres style there may appear elements of
colloquial language (a form of the spoken variety), but it will always be stylized to a
greater or lesser degree by the writer. The term Mb>eljs^fittiЈ&LitsdI suggests the use
of the written language. The spoTcen language by its very nature is spontaneous,
momentary, fleeting. It vanishes after having fulfilled its purpose, which is .to com-
municate a thought, no matter whether it is trivial or really important. The idea
remains, the language dissolves in it. The written language, on the contrary, lives
together with the idea it expresses.
A trustworthy observation on the difference between the spoken and written varieties
of language is made by Prof. Archibald A. Hill in his "An Analysis of 'The
Windhover'."
"Ordinary speech is~ ephemeral, meant to be reacted to and forgotten. ...chains in
speech, therefore, work mostly forward and over a fairly short span. In literature they
can also work backward and there can be more than one chain running at a time, so
that a given item can have one meaning in one span, a different one in a second."2
The spoken language cannot be detached from the user of it, the speaker, who is
unable to view it from the outside. The written language, on the contrary, can be
detached from the writer, enabling him to look upon his utterance objectively and
giving him the opportunity to correct and improve..wjjat has been put on paper. That
is why it is said that the writ|en language bears a greater volume of responsibility than
its spoken c6unteifpart;
The spoken variety ^iffcj^from the written language (that is, in its written
representation) ghoneticallv, morphologically, lexically, .and syntactically. Thus, of
morj)liQlogIHriSFmsTHes"poKen language common-" " "
ivuses contractedjprms, eas 'he'd' (he would), 'she's' (she is) Td've' (I would have). It
niusTҐe"remembered that we touch upon the differences between the two varieties of
the English language within standard (literary) English. However, some forms of the
vernacular do make their wav into the oral (spoken) variety of standard English. They
are, as it were, on the way to be admitted into the standard. Such are, for example, the
use of don't instead of doesn't, as in "It's a wonder his father don't take him in his
bank" (Dreiser); he instead of him, as in "I used to play tennis with he and Mrs.
Antolini" (Salinger); / says, ain't (instead of am not, is not, are not), them instead
oLthese or those, as in'Тйе/n's some of your chaps, ain't they?" (Tressell); Leggo=4et
go', hellova=lhel\ of a' and others.
These morphological and phonetic peculiarities are sometimes retarded as violations
of grammar rules, caused by a certain carelessness which accompanies №e
quickTempd of colloquial speech" or an excited state of mind. Others are typical of
territorial or social dialects. THe following passage is illustrative in this respect:
"Mum, I've asked a young lady to come to tea tomorrow. Is that all right?"
"You done what?" asked Mrs. Sunbury, for a moment forgetting her grammar.
"You heard, mum." (Maugham)
Some of these improprieties are now recognized as being legitimate forms of
colloquial English. Thus, Prof. H. Whitehall of Indiana University now admits that
"Colloquial spoken English often uses them as the plural form of this and that, written
English uses these and those. 'Them men have arrived'."1
The most striking difference between the spoken and written language is, however, in
the VQcabulary used. There are words and phrases typi-caljy colloquial, on the one
hand, and typically bookish-, on the other. This problem will be dealt with in detail in
the next chapter. Such words and phrases as 'sloppy', 'to be gone on somebody' (= to
be violently irUove with); 'Itake it' j[^.X.Ufl^erstand); 4a sort of; “to hob-nob with' (=
to be very familiar with) and offiersTmmediately mark the utterance as being
colloquial, that is, belonging to the spoken variety of language. They are rarely found
in the author's narrative unless special stylistic aims are pursued. When set against
ordinary neutral words or literary-bookish words and expressions, they produce a
marked stylistic effect. Here is an example:
||He says you were struck off the rolls for something." . 'Removed from the
Register' is the correct expression," placidly interrupted the doctor. (Maugham)
Here are some more examples of present-day colloquial phrases which are gaining
ground in standard English but which are strongly felt to °e colloquial: 'How come?'
(= Why? How does that happen?), 'What
time do you make it?', 'so much the better', 'to be up to something', 4to buddy-buddy
together' (= to be friends).
The spoken language makes ample use of intensifying words. These are interjections
and words with strong emotive meaning, as oaths, swear-\^"ds^Tld'"a~dfecTives
which have lost their primary meaning and only serve the purpose of intensifying the
emotional charge of the utterance. Here are some examples:
"I'd sure like to hear some more about them people." (Don Gordon)
"In fact, you ought to be darn glad you went to Burtingame." (L. Ford)
"He put my goddam paper down..." (Salinger)
The words 'here* and * there' are also used to reinforce the demonstrative pronouns,
as in:
"If I can get a talk with this, here servant..." said Weller.
"That there food is good."
"Is this 'ere (here) hall (all) you've done?" he shouts out.
There is another characteristic feature of colloquial language, namely, the insertion
into the utterance of words without any meaning, which are appropriately called "fill-
ups" or empty words. To some extent they give a touch of completeness to the
sentence if used at the end of it or, if used in the middle, help the speaker to fill the
gap when unable to find the proper word. Illustrative is the use of 'and all' in Holden's
speech in Salinger's novel "The Catcher in the Rye." Here are some examples:
"She looked so damn nice, the way she kept going around and around in her blue coat
and all."
"... splendid and clear-thinking and all"
"... he is my brother and all"
Such words and set expressions as well, so to say, you see, you know, you
understand, and all, as well as what may be called "mumbling words" like -m-m, er-r,
alsfr belong to the category of fill-ups.
The syntactical^ pQculmritieg, of the spoken language are perhaps not so stfikfn^'a^
tlie lexical ones, but more than any other features they reveal the true nature of the
spoken variety of language, that is, the sit-uational character of the communication.
The first of them is what is erroneously called ellipsis, that is, the omission of parts of
the utterance easily supplied Fy~tfiF Situation in which the communication takes
place. These are in fact not omissions, but the regular absence of parts unnecessary in
lively conversation when there are two or more people speaking. Here are some
absolutely normal and legitimate constructions which have missing elements in the
spoken language, elements which are, however, indispensable in the written language:
' Vlell you what."
f'Who you with? (Who are you with?)" "Care to hear my ideas about it?" "Ever go
back to England?" "Just doing a short story to kill the time.'
д second feature is the tendency to use the direct wprd:or4er щ ques-or omit the
auxiliary verb, leaving it to {he intonation to indicate meaning of the sentence, for
example:
"Scrooge knew Marley was dead?" (Dickens) "Miss Holland look after you and all
that?"
Unfinished sentences are also typical of the spoken language, for example, 'If you
behave like that I'll...'
There is a syntactical structure with a tautological subject which is also considered
characteristic of colloquial English. It is a construction in which two subjects are used
where one is sufficient reference. Usually they are noun and pronoun, as in: x
“He was a kind boy, Harry.' 'Helen, she was “there. Ask her.'
In the spoken language it is very natural to have a string of sentences without any
connections or linked with, and, that servant of all work, for example:
'Came home late. Had supper and went to bed. Couldn't sleep, of course. The evening
had been too much of a strain.'
It has already been pointed out that the ,spo]<:en^yari§ty of language^ is jar more
emotional than its cou^tepart, due mainly to ffie advan-". tage the human voice
supplies. This emotiveness of colloquial language has produced a number of
syntactical structures which so far have been little investigated and the meaning of
which can hardly be discerned without a proper intonation design. Here are some of
them:
"Isn't she cute!"
"Don't you tell me that."
"A witch she is!"
"And didn't she come over on the same boat as myself 1"
"He fair beats me, does James!"
"Clever girl that she is!"
"You are telling me!"
"There you have the man!"
"Somebody is going to touch you with a broomstick!"
The characteristic syntactical features of the written variety of language can easily be
perceived by the student of language. As .the situation must be made clear by the
context, the utterance becomes more exact. That means the relations between the parts
of the utter-a^e roust be precise. Hence the abundance of all kinds of conjunctions,
verbial phrases and other means which may serve as connectives. s someone has said,
a clear writer is always conscious of a reader over in *t Чег- He must explain. Most
of the connecting words were evolved
conn ^ritten language and for the most part are used only there. Such on theves as
moreover, furthermore, likewise, similarly, nevertheless, contrary, however,
presently, eventually, therefore, in connection with, hereinafter, henceforth, have a
decidedly bookish flavour and are seldom used in ordinary conversation.
Another syntactical feature of the written language is its use of complicated sentence-
units. The written language prefers hypotaxis to paFataxis; Tong~"periods'" are more
frequent than short utterances. The monologue character of the written' language
forcibly demands logical coherence of the ideas expressed and the breaking of the
utterance into observable spans; hence units like the supra-phrasal unit and the
paragraph (see pp. 193—198).
The words and word-combinations of the written language have also gained
recognition as a separate layer of the English vocabulary. Richard D. Altick, Prof, of
English at the Ohio State University, calls many phrases that tend to be bookish
"space-wasters". These are despite the fact (== although); in the matter of (= about); a
long period of time (= a long time); in the capacity of (= as); resembling In nature (=
like); reach a decision (— decide); met with the approval of Jones (= Jones
approved); announced himself to be In favour of (= said he favoured) and others.
However, these "space-wasters" cannot always be so easily dispensed with, and Prof.
Altick seems not to take into consideration the subtle difference in /meaning carried
by such pairs as in the capacity of and as, resembling In nature and like. Of course,
there are the "high-talkers" who frequently over-indulge in bookishness of expression,
thus causing a natural protest on the part of ordinary readers. J. D. Adams, an
American linguist and critic, gives an example of such over-bookish-ness from an
Academy of Science report:
"The evolution of an optimum scientific payload will require a continuing dialogue
among all potential investigators and the engineers responsible for implementing their
scientific goals." Then he gives what he calls a "possible translation": "Finding -the
right cargo will require 'continuing conferences of"those working on the project."1
It is worthy of note that most of the ridicule poured on the bookish language used by
different writers is concentrated on the vocabulary. Little or no mockery is made of
the syntactical pattern, even though m the long run it is this feature that has as great a
weight as any of the others in distinguishing the written from the spoken language.
The syntactical structure, na matter how complicated it may be, reflects the essential
difference between the two varieties of language, and is accepted without question.
Any-syntactical pattern of the written variety will always show the interrelation
between the parts of the utterance, so there is nothing to hinder the reader in grasping
the whole. This is the case with prose writing.
With regard to poetry, the situation is somewhat different. Recent observations on the
peculiarities of the language of modern English and American poetry have proved that
it is mainly the breach of syntactical laws that hinders understanding to a degree that
the message
comes undecodable. Coherence and logical unity backed up by purely linguistic
means is therefore an essential property of the written variety. The bookish
vocabulary, one of the notable properties of the writ-teTHanguai^ even the most
intelligent reader and may very frequently need interpretation.

5. A BRIEF OUTLINE OF THE DEVELOPMENT OF THE ENGLISH LITERARY


(STANDARD) LANGUAGE
Up till now we have done little more than mention the literary (standard) language,
which is one of the most important notions in stylistics and general linguistics. It is
now necessary to elucidate this linguistic notion by going a little deeper into what
constitutes the concept and to trace the stages in the development of the English
standard language. This is necessary in order to avoid occasional confusion of terms
differently used in works on the history, literature and style of the English language.
Confusion between the terms "literary language" and "language of literature" is
frequently to be met.
JLiterary language is a historical category. It exists as a varietyof iie*
nationalanguage.
1," said A. M. Gorki, "that language is the creation of the people. The division of the
language into literary and vernacular only means that there are, as it were, a rough
unpolished tongue and one wrought by men-of-letters."1^
The IHeraryJanguage is that elaborated form (variety) of the national language which
obeys definite morphological, phonetic, syntactical, lexical; phraseological and
stylistic norms2 recognized as standard and thereforejiЈЈЈplable in all kinds and types
of discourse. It allows nTo3T!TcafTons but within the frame work ш the system of
established norms. It casts out some of the forms of language which are considered to
be beyond the established norm. The norm of usage is established. Бу thelanguage
community at every given period in the development 2? the language. It is ever
changing and therefore not infrequently evasive. At every period the norm is in a state
of fluctuation and it requires a very sensitive and efficient eye and ear to detect and
specify these fluctuations. Sometimes we may even say thatJwjo normsco-exist. But
in this case we may be positive that one of the co-existingTofriTs"of the language will
give way to its rival and either vanish from the language entirely or else remain on its
outskirts.
In this connection it will not come amiss to note that there are two ?
~^ЈU5gJendencies in the process of establishing the norm:
preservation of the already existing norm, sometimes with attempts ,^-trrrrt, Qjd
forms of the'language
2) mtroduction of new norms
In this connectionIt"wiTFTe mteresting to quote the following lines from H. C.
Wyld's "A History of Modern Colloquial English." \
"If it were necessary to attempt to formulate the general ten- J dencies which have
been discernible in Received Standard Eng- j lish during the last three centuries and a
half, and which have been increasingly potent during the last hundred and fifty years,
we should name two, which are to some extent opposed, but both of which are
attributable to social causes. The first is the gradual decay of ceremoniousness and
formality which has overtaken the speech and modes of address, no less than the
manners, of good society. The second of the effort—sometimes conscious and
deliberate, sometimes unconscious—after 'correctness' or correctitude, which, on the
one hand, has almost eliminated the use of oaths and has softened away many
coarsenesses and crudities of expression—as we should now feel them to be, however
little squeamish we may be—while on the other it has, by a rigid appeal to the
spelling—the very worst and most unreliable court for the purpose—definitely ruled
out, as 'incorrect' or 'slipshod' or 'vulgar'", many pronunciations and grammatical
constructions which had arisen in the natural course of the developmeftt of English,
and were formerly universal among the best speakers. Both of these tendencies are
due primarily ] to the social, political and economic events in our history.... !
These social changes have inevitably brought with therrf cOr- I responding changes in
manners and in speech... but the speech j and habits of a lifetime are not changed in a
moment, as a ! vesture. Much of the old remains, and slowly and imperceptibly the
new-comers react upon their environment, almost as much as they are influenced by
it. Thus, for instance, it is suggested thai the Middle Class Puritan ideals have
gradually brought about a greater reticence of expression and a more temperate use of
expletives, and also a greater simplicity of manners, from which \ many of the airs
and graces of the older order were eliminated. ! Again, a highly cultivated and
intellectual section of the Middle Class have played a prominent part in Church and
State since the time of Elizabeth. We see under that monarch a generation of courtiers,
statesmen, and prelates, who were also scholars, and even some who... were
educational reformers and writers upon language, as well as^statesmen. The influence
of these learned courtiers would be in the direction of correctness and elegance of
utterance, in opposition to the more careless and unstudied speech of the mere men of
fashion."1
It is interesting to note that much of what was considered a violation of the norm in
one period of the development of a language becomes acknowledged and is regarded
as perfectly normal in another
iod Many words and constructions which were once considered illit-Perte have
become lilerarya T^ncTno effort was spared to ban inriova-f[lns, paFticularly"in"the
sphere of vocabulary, by the purists of,any given' period. But most of their efforts
were in vain. The people, who are the only lawgivers of the language, gradually
accepted changes in all language levels and in vocabulary.
There is no hard and fast division between the literary and non-literary language.
They are interdependent. The literary language constantly enriches its vocabulary and
Torms from the inexhaustible resources of the vernacular. It also adopts some of its
syntactical peculiarities and by so doing gives them the status of norms of the literary
language. Thus selection is the most typical feature of the literary language. The
process of selecting and admitting lexical or morphological forms into the literary
language is not a conscious effort on the part of scholars. It is rather a reluctant
concession than a free and deliberate selection. When a linguistic item circulating in
the non-literary language gains admission into the sacred precincts of the literary
language, it is mostly due to the conscious choice of the man-of-letters, who finds
either an aesthetic value in the given unit, or some other merit that will justify its
recognition as a lawful member of the literary language^
This, however, is not the case with structural units. As the national language is the
creation of the people as a whole, morphological and syntactteal changes which
gradually and imperceptibly take place in their speech from one generation to another,
cannot fail in the long run to enter the literary language. Men-of-letters not only write
the language, they also speak it and in most cases just like any one of their
countrymen.
Newly-coined words, or neologisms, as they are called, which are created according
to the productive models of word-building in the given language do not go beyond the
boundaries of the literary norms. If a newly-coined word is understood by the
community, it may become a fact of the literary language. But the literary language
casts off any form that is unrecognizable. The development of thp literary language is
governed by its own laws. It is highly resistant to innovations of speech.
The English literary language was particularly regulated and formalized during the
seventeenth. ^ an id ^eight^nth centuries. The influence of the men-of-letters on this
process can hardly be over-estimated, borne of them, none the less, hindered the
natural, organic process of development. Baugh1 points out that Swift, for .example,,
"in matters oi language... was a conservative." Byron, on the other hand, was very
liberal and introduced into the literary language many new words and pnrases. Not all
of them gained recognition and stayed in the literary language; but nevertheless they
were facts of the literary language У their very nature. Take, for example, the word
'weatherology' coined °У byron. -
The literary language greatly influences the non-literary language. Many words,
constructions and particularly phonetic improvements have been,, introduced through
it into the English colloquial language/
This influence had its greatest effect in the 19th century witH the" spread of general
education, and in the present century with the introduction of radio and television into
the daily lives of the people. Many words of a highly literary character have passed
into the non-literary language, often undergoing peculiar morphological and phonetic
distortions in the process.
The non-literary language manifests itself in all aspects of the language: phonetic,
morphological, lexical and syntactical.
Such formerly dialectal peculiarities as m' instead of ing; [a] instead of [aej; the
dropping of [h] and the insertion of [h] at the beginning of some words; [ai] instead of
[ei], [ram]— [rein], are typical phonetic peculiarities of non-literary English.
The difficulty that one faces when attempting to specify the characteristic features of
the non-literary variety lies mainly in the fact that it does not present any system. The
best way to check this or that form of non-literary English is to contrast it to the
existing form.
Literary English is almost synoayrnous with- the term stand a r d E fig I i sh. Standard
English is best described in an interesting Book written by Randolph Quirk, Professor
of English language in the University of London, the title of which is "The Use of
English." He states:
"We have seen that standard English is basically an ideal, a mode of expression that
we seek when we wish to communicate beyond our immediate community with
members of the wider community of the nation as a whole. As an ideal, it cannot be
perfectly realised, and we must expect that members of different * wider
communities' (Britain, America, Nigeria, for example) may^ produce different
realisations. In fact, however, the^remarkable thing Js the very high degree of
unanimity, the small amount of divergence. Any of us can read a newspaper printed in
Leeds or San Francisco or Delhi without difficulty and often even without realising
that there are differences at all."1
, regarded as the remnants of the London dialect, seems to be growing into a generic
te№^ English in Britain; although ntDfi:stanffard varieties of English exist in territor-
ial variants. Literary English is. indifferent to territorial usage.
The publication of dictionaries does much to. establish the literary language norms.
As a matter of fact, it- is impossible to establish any norm once and for all. At the
very moment it is established, it begins to fluctuate. Such fluctuations not infrequently
result in considerable changes. And the compilers of English dictionaries are forced
willy-nilly to acknowledge a variant and present it as co-existing alongside the one
previously recognized as solely acceptable. This is particularly
the case with reference to pronunciation. The scholar fixing the language norm is
made to bow to his majesty the people.
The English literary language has had a long and peculiar history. Throughout the
stages of its development there has been a struggle for ogressive tendencies, which,
on the one hand, aim at barring the lan-uage from the intrusion of contaminating
elements, such as jafgonisms, lang, vulgarisms and the like, and, on the other hand, at
manifesting themselves in protest against the reactionary aspirations of some zealous
scholars to preserve the English language in a fixed form.
The English language, as is known, is the result of the integration of the tribal dialects
of the Angles, SaxonT'and Jutes who occupied C ~tfie British Isles in the 3rd—5th
centuries. The first manuscripts of the language belong to the 8th century. But the
language of the 8th and consecutive centuries is so unlike present-day English that
Englishmen do not understand it. This language is called Angl^o-Saxon or Old Eng-
lish. Old English is a dead language, like Latin or classic Greek. Like TRem and like
the Russian language, tit is an inflected language. The_ Old English period lasted
approximately until the end of the twelftH
century. ' fa During the next stage
in its development, known as the Middle / English period, the English language
rapidly progressed towards its: present state. By this time It Had greaTly enlarged its
vocabulary by "borrowings from Norman-French and zither-languages. '
The structure of the language,had considerably changed due to the _ loss of most of
the inflections and also to other very important changes. By the middle of the
thirteenth century Norman-French, which had been the official language since the
Norman Conquest in 1066, was _ almost completely ousted by English._In 1362
Parliament was first" opened in English, and a few years later court proceedings were
ordered" to be carried on in English and not in French, "which was too little""
known."
The. New English period, as it is called, is .usually considered to date from the / i f t e
e n th century. This 'is the beginning of the English language known, spoken and
written at the present time.
This period cannot yet be characterized by any degree of uniformity in the language.
The influence of the various dialects was still strongly
jfelt, but the London dialect was gradually winning general recognition. According to
many historians of the English language, by the latter part of the 15th century the
London dialect had been accepted as.the standard, at least in writing, in most parts of
the country. This should to a very great extent be attributed to Qaxton, the first
English printer, who in his translations and in the books he printed josed the current
speech of Lon-
JLon. Caxton writes that he was advised bylearned men to use the most curious terms
that he could find, and declares that he found himself jn a dilemma "between the
plain, rude and curious. But in my judgement", n.egoes °n, "the common terms that be
daily used been lighter to understand than the old and ancient English."" Puttenham,
author of "The of English Poesie," declares that as the norm of literary English
"... ye shall therefore take the usual speech of the court, and that of London and the
shires lying about London within LX (sixty) miles and not much above."1
But the process of establishing the London speech as a single norm throughout the
country was very slow and hardly perceptible. Even the language of the 16th century,
according to C. Wyld, "...both fn printed works and in private letters, still shows
considerable dialectal individualism. The Standard... is not yet completely fixed."2
In the s i x tee nth^ cejituj'jLi literary English began markedly To 1ТбПГ1ШГТЬе
rapid development of printing went parallel with the general -'growth of culture, to
which much was contributed by the two universities, Oxford and Cambridge.
In the second half of the 16th century, a century marked by the political and economic
rise of England, literature began to flourish In all Jorms—drama,, poetry and prose.
The works of literary criticism written "at the time show the interest awakened in
poetry and drama. Frequent translations were now made from the Greek and Latin,
classic" writers. П* Edmund Spenser, Christopher Marlowe, William Shakespeare,
and, •'•\ later, Ben Jonson, Beaumont and Fletcher and many other writers \ ~of the
period exerted a very great influence on the growth and perfection I of the English"
literary language.
The freedom in the use of language so characteristic of this epoch was often subjected
to wise and moderate restrictions set by these writers. So, for example, Ben Jonson,
while accepting Quintillian's statement that "...custome is the most certain mistress of
language," at the same time warns "...not to be frequent with every day coining", nor
to use words from past ages which were no longer in use, that is, archaic words as, for
instance, Chaucerisms.
In their use of the language there were two tendencies among the writers of this age:
one was the free and almost unrestricted use of new 'words an4 forms, coined or
^imported into the English language; the other was the revival of archaic words, the
latter being a counter-weight to the former. Two names may be called to mind as
representing the two tendencies: Spenser, on the one hand, Shakespeare, on the other.
Spenser tried to preserve the old English words, especially those denoting abstract
ideas, which had been replaced by words of French or Latin origin. He praised these
word's as being more expressive than the borrowed ones. '-• v
Ј•-. On the contrary, Shakespeare advocated in his^sonnets and plays the
unrestricted use of words of -all kinds and particularly new coinages. Shakespeare
himself coined many new words. Marlowe and Fletcher drew widely on the resources
of vernacular English and this, to a large extent, explains the remarkable vigour and
expressiveness of their language.
To give a general idea of the factors influencing the development of literary English
in the 15th and 16th centuries, it will suffice to point out the following three:
n A common interest in classical literature during the Renaissance 1 hence the
^аррНсШоП of classical grammar, spelling and rhetoric f the English language.
Attempts were made by scholars to force the norms into the English language
2) A desire to keep the language pure, to retain and revive old Eng-s words and as far
as possible old English morphological and syntacti-1 I forms. This tendency has been
called а г с h a i с Ј a r i s rn.^ The
-nfluence of archaic purism led to an acute struggle "against the intrusion
- f foreign words, particularly those "of Latin and continental French origin, and as a
consequence of this struggle an orientation towards the obsolescent forms of the
language.
3) An orientation towards the living, developing and rapidly changing norms of the
colloquial language. Free use wSs made of the inherent
-properties of the English language as they had materialized by this time, for example,
free use of conversion-, word-composition, derivation and semantic change. In the
domain of syntax and word-order too, there was already considerable freedom of
usage.
The Protestant Reformation, which gradually gained strength and popularity
throughout the 16th century, played a great role in the development of the English
literary language. Books on religion, translated or composed in strong, simple, living
English with few["learned" words, and understandable to the masses of ordinary
people, were '"By" 'a"cF"of Parliament placed in the churches and read aloud. Parts of
the Bible SffcT later the whole Bible, were also translated in the same manner. By
order of Queen Elizabeth I a Bible was placed in every church and people flocked to
read it or hear it read. (Up to the reign of Elizabeth it had been forbidden to read the
Bible in English and people were punished and burnt to death for doing so.)
The interaction of these three factors is reflected in the grammars and books on
rhetoric of the time, which serve to illustrate to the present-day reader the fluctuation
of the norms then existing, as well as the linguistic ideas, tastes and credos of the
scholars who laid down the law. The uncritical applications of the laws of Latin
grammar to the norms observed in the English language were objected to even in the
16th century. Philip Sidney, for instance, stated that the English language must have
its own grammar. He saw" that such grammatical categories as case, gender, tense and
mood, which are natural to Latin, could not be applied mechanically to English.
However, books on rhetoric have played a considerable part in establishing the norms
of literary English in the 16th* as well as in the following centuries. As far back as in
1524 Leonard Cox published a textbook entitled "The Arte or Craft e of Rhetorique"
which was followed- by a series of works of this kind. Many of them Have helped to
lay the foundation for the study of the laws of composition and of the ways and means
to make writing* emphatic in order that the desired effect on the reader should be
achieved and the main function of language— cbmmunica-"oijrguaranteed to the full.
tradition of rhetoric, 'Wilson. dividesj>tyle of expression into three kinds: elevated,,
middle and Tow, a ~dfvTsf6?Twhich was'in vogue "up-""to" 'ШГ 19th century and
which greatly influenced the course of development of the English literary language.
Writing devoid of all ornament - was considered coarse. It was in this period, the 16th
century, that a literary trend known as euphuism came into vogue. The euphuistic
manner of writing was characterized" By a pedantic affectation of elegant and high-
flown language abounding in all kinds of stylistic devices.
It was not only the syntactical aspect of the English literary language that was
influenced by the laws of rhetoric. The choice of words was also predetermined by the
laws set by the rhetoricians of the 16th century. Latin words, either directly or through
the French language, poured into the English literary language because English had
never had, or had lost, the words required to give expression to scientific ideas. Sir
Thomas More, for example, introduced into the English language a great many words
jn spite of thevopposition of the purists of the time. To him the English language
owes such words as absurdity, acceptance, anticipate, compatible, comprehensible,
congratulate, explain, fact, indifference, monopoly, neces-sitate, obstruction, paradox,
pretext and many others. Philip Sidney is said to have coined such words as
emancipate, eradicate, exist, extinguish, harass, meditate and many other words and
phrases. As illustrations we have chosen words which have found a permanent place
in the English stock of words, Most of them have already passed into the neutral layer
of words. A great many words introduced by men-of-letters in the 16th century and
later have disappeared entirely from English literature.
Further, there were great difficulties in spelling. No two writers spelt all words
exactly alike. From the Old English period up to the 15th century there had been
chaos in English spelling. The Old English system, which was phonetic, had broken
down because the language had changed. Then besides that, no writer knew exactly
how to spell borrowed words—in the Latin, the French or the Norman-French
way, ."or according to the rules which individual writers applied in their own way
when spelling words of English origin.L Even the publication of dictionaries, which
began in the middle of the 17th century, did not fix English spelling. One of the first
dictionaries was called "Table Alphabetical conteyning and teaching the true writing
and understanding of hard Usual English words." This was the first dictionary
confined entirely to the English language. Spelling was one of the problems which the
English language began consciously to face in the 16th century and it was fairly
settled before the end of the 17th century.
And yet this period is characterized mainly by freedom of the norms used, in 'the
literary language. The interaction of the lively everyday speech and the unstable rules
of English grammar led to a peculiar enrichment of the literary language, New word-
combinations were coined with ease and new meanings attached to them (for
example, to come
1 The influence of the Latinists can be seen, for example, in the \vordsdebt and doubt.
The b was inserted to make the words look more like the Latin originals.
about in the meaning of 'to happen'; to come by=4o get'; to come upon—
*to near').
The same can be observed in the composition of compound words, particularly words
with adjectives as first components, for example, with the word deep—deep-
divorcing-, deep-premediated', deep-searched', deep-sore\ deep-sweet, deep-
wounded', deep-brained.l
The element deep in these examples loses its primary logical meaning and assumes a
new meaning, half-grammatical, which we call emotional. The word thus assumes a
new quality: it is a semi-prefix, indicating the intensification of the quality embodied
in the second adjective.
The free use of words, in spite of the restrictions imposed on this freedom by certain
ardent adherents of the "purity" of the language, resulted in the appearance of new
meanings of words. First they were perceived as contextual, probably accompanied by
suggestive intonation and gestures, and then, in the course of time, through frequency
of repetition, the new meanings were absorbed into the semantic structure of the
word.
As an illustration of the instability of the norms of usage it will be interesting to point
out the variety of prepositions that could be used with verbs. Thus, the verb to repent
was used with the following prepositions: 'repent at", 'repent for\ 'repent over', 'repent
in', 'repent of\ The syntactical patterns of this period were also marked by noticeable
variety arising from the relative freedom of* usage. This freedom is observable not
only in the word-order but in the use of double nega-Jions, as in'say nothing neither'
and the like. In morphology it is "marked by the use of both adjectives and adverbs in
the function of modifiers of verbs, as in 'to speak plain', 'she is exceeding wise' and
the like. The fluctuation in the norms of the English literary language of the 16th
century is ascribed to a variety of causes. One is that the Lon-jion dialect, which
formed the core of the' national literary language, was not yet spoken all ovfL .the
country. Consequently, an educated "man who came, let us say, from the North of
England, still retained in his speech certain of the morphological and syntactical
forms of his native dialect. Then, in view of the fact that the norms,,of the literary
language were not yet hard and fast, he used these dialectal forms in his writing.
There was a great influxrof forms from the common speech of the people into the
literary language which, however, was still the domain of the few.
Students of the history of the English language give a number of reasons explaining
this influx of forms from-the everyday language of the people. One of them is that
after the church of England refused to acknowledge the authority of Rome, church
services had been translat-ed from Latin into simple, strong English. Services were
held daily and long sermons delivered in English. Many of the clergy found that the
literary English did not have much more meaning to the people than church Latin had
had, so they modified it, bringing it closer to
the speech of the people among whom they lived. Clergymen who were unable to
write their own sermons used those of the great protestant reformers of the 16th
century which were written in simple forceful English with a minfmum of borrowed
words.
It was in the choice of the words to be used in literary English that the sharpest
controversy arose and in which the two tendencies of the period were most apparent.
On the one hand, there was a fierce struggle against "ink-horn" terms, as they were
then called.1 Among the learned men of the 16th century who fought against the
introduction of any innovations into the English language must be mentioned Sir John
Cheke, Roger Ascham and, in particular, .Thomas Wilson, whose well-known "Arte
of Rhetorique" has already been mentioned. He severely attacked "ink-horn** terms.
Some of the words that were objected to by Thomas Wilson were affability,
ingenious, capacity, celebrate, illustrate, superiority, fertile, native, confidence and
many others that are in common use to-day. Puttenham, although issuing a warning
against "ink-horn terms", admits having to use some of them himself, and seeks to
justify them in particular instances. He defends the words scientific, majordome,
politien (politician), conduct (verb) and others.
On the other hand, there was an equally fierce struggle against the tendency to revive
obsolete words and particularlylhe vocabulary and phraseology of Chaucer. Ben
Jonson in this connection said: "Spenser in affecting the ancients writ no language."
Sir John Cheke, one of the purists of the century, tried to introduce English
equivalents for the French borrowings: he invented such words as mooned (lunatic),
foresyer (prophet), byword (parable), freshman (proselyte), crossed (crucified),
gainrising (resurrection). Of these words only freshman in the sense of * first-year
student' and byword in the sense of 'a saying' remain in the , language. The tendency,
to revive arhaic words, however, has always been observed in poetic language.
The 16th century may justly be called crucial in establishing the norms of present-day
literary English. Both of the tendencies mentioned above have left their mark on the
standard English of to-day. Sixteenth-century literary English could not, however, be
called standard English because at that time there was,no received standard.
S ev e n te e n th^ce n t и г у literary English is characterized by a general tendency to
refinement and regulation. The orientation towards classical models, strong enough in
16th century English, assumed a new function, that of refining, polishing and
improving the literary language. This was, of course, one of the trends leading to the
final establishment of the norms of literary English.
The tendency tqjrefine_the: language, to give it the grace and gallantry of the nobility
of the period, is manifested in the writings of language theoreticians and critics of the
time. Illustrative of this is the "Essay on Dramatic Poesy" by John Dryden, where we
find the following:
1 Terms born from an 'ink-horn', that is, words and phrases which were purposely
coined by men-of-letters, and the meaning of which was obscure.
"I have always acknowledged the wit of our predecessors... but I am sure their wit
was not that of gentlemen; there was ever somewhat that was ill bred and clownish in
it and which 'confessed the conversation of the authors... In the age wherein these
poets lived, there was less of gallantry than in ours; neither did they keep the best
company of theirs (their age)... The discourse and raillery of our comedies excel what
has been written by them."1
One of the many manifestations of the process of regulation and refinement can be
seen in the successive editions of Shakespeare's works in 1623, 1632, 1664, 1685, in
which the language of the great playwright was subjected to considerable change in
order to make it conform to the norms established by his successors. There were not
only morphological and syntactical changes, but even changes in Shakespeare's
vocabulary. Words that were considered 'ill bred and clownish' were sometimes
changed, but more often they were omitted altogether.
In 1664 a special committee was set up, the aim of which was to normalize and
improve the English language.. But the Committee did not last long and had little
influence in deciding upon the nofins^of
usage.
A considerable role in the regulation of the norms was played by a number of new
grammars which appeared at this period. Among these the "Grammatica Linguae
Anglicanae" written in Latin by John Wallis and published in 1653 is particularly
notable. It was a kind of protest against the blind imitation of Latin grammars,
.although the author could not free himself entirely from the influence of the Latin
grammatical system and the Latin theory of language.
The tendency of refining and polishing the English literary language
by modelling it on the classic Greek and Latin masterpieces was counter-
acted, however, by another strong movement, that of restricting liter-
ary English to a simple colloquial language which would easily be under-
stood by the ordinary people. The Protestant Reformation also played
its role in safeguarding the English literary language for the people.
So, on the one hand, there was the rhetoric which was "...a potent
force in shaping the English language inthe period following the Renais-
sance"2 and which undoubtedly paved the way for the norms of the
standard English of the 17th century. On the other hand, there was the
authorized version of the English Bible first published in 1611, which
"...has served to keep alive English worjds and to. fix their mean-
ings, and it has provided language material and pattern in word,
in phrase, in rhythm... to English writers and speakers of all
subsequent times." a
According to Frank A. Visetelly, the Bible contains 97 per cent of Anglo-Saxon
words, more than any other English book
Early in the seventeenth century English dictionaries began to appear as practical
guides to JJie use of new words,'"terms belonging to science and arf and also "ink-
horn" terms, which had poured into the English language in the 1(з!Ь' ceniury ancl
continuecljp flow in in the seventeenth.
' As in every century there was a struggle between the purists, the "keepers" of, the
already esfaBTIshed norms "offKe language, who mainly orientate towards the
literary and somewhat obsolescent forms of language, and the admirers of novelty
who regard everything new that appears on the surface of the language as representing
its natural development and therefore as something that should be readily accepted
into the system without its being subjected to the test of time. Such a struggle is the
natural clash of tendencies which leads to changes in the literary language of each
linguistic period. But there is nevertheless a general tendency in each period, which
will undoubtedly be reflected in the literary language.
The normalizing tendency, so apparent in the seventeenth century, continues into the
eighteenth. But by eighteenth century it had become a conscious goal. The ainf of the
language scholars who sought to lay down the law in the eighteenth century may be
expressed as the desire to fix the language fojr all time, to establish its laws once and
for all. ОДЗГапй7ёЈШ1гП^^ esteemed/Their need for standardization and regulation
was summed up in their word "ascertainment" of the language.
G. H. McKnight, a student of the history of modern standard English, whom we have
already cited, describes the general tendency of the development of the literary
English of the eighteenth century in the following words:
"The little-controlled English language of the time of Sidney and Shakespeare,...the
elegant freedom of expression of the Restoration period, was to be subjected to
authority. Both learning represented by Johnson and fashionable breeding represented
by Chesterfield came together in a common form of language reduced to regularity
and uniformity."3'
But the actual history of the development of standard English cannot be reduced to
the interaction of learning and fashionable breeding. The development of the'literary
language is marked by the process of selection. The real creator of the literary form of
the language remains the^^ peojple^tllFactuaT lawgiver of tie norms. Scientists and
men-of-let-lers only fix what has already been established by general usage. New
norms of usage cannot be imposed. But to historians of language the opinions of
writers and scholars of a given period as well as those of ordinary people are of great
value. They help to trace the fluctuating trends leading to the establishment of the
norms of the period and influence to some extent the progress of literary English.
In the eighteenth century two men had a great influence on the de-relopnient of the
norms of literary English.. These were" Jonathan Swift* and S^ueЈliohnson. '""
*~"
TrTan attempt to regularize the use of English, Swift condemned; both what he called
"vulgar slanginess" and "intolerable preciosity".^ According to Swift, the "vulgar
slanginess" came from a certain school of young men from the universities, "terribly
possessed with fear of pedantry", who from his description wished to be what we
should call *up to date'".
"'They... come up to town, reckon all their errors for accomplishments, borrow the
newest set of phrases and if take a pen into their hands, all the odd words they have
picked up in a coffee-house, or at a gaming ordinary are produced as flowers of style.'
"Such a * strange race of wits' with their * quaint fopperies' of manner and speech,
exist in every age. Their mannerisms rarely pass beyond their immediate clique, and
have no more permanence than foam on the river."1
The "intolerable preciosity", as Swift understands it, was the tendency to use
embellishments to the detriment of clarity and exactness. It was Swift who^declared
the necessity "to call a spade a spade", a phrase whicFhas Become a symbol for a
"plain and simple way of expression.
Samuel Johnson's attitude toward language is best expressed in his-Grammar: "For
pronunciation, the best rule is to consider those as the most elegant speakers who
deviate least from the written words." Faithful to this doctrine Johnson in trying to
"ascertain" the English language was mainly concerned with the usage of great
English writers. In his famous dictionary, first published in 1753, the influence of
which on subsequent dictionaries of the English language can hardly be over-es-
timated, Johnson made his selection only from words found in literary publications,
ignoring the words and collocations used in oral intercourse, in the lively colloquial
English of his day. T.he-definitions given by Johnson reflect only the usage of the
great writers of his own and of preceding centuries.
The literary-bookish character of Johnson's dictionary has greatly influenced the word
usage of written English and also the formation of different styles in literary English.
Eighteenth-century concepts in the fields of philosophy and natural sciences h-ad
considerable influence on contemporary theoretical linguistic thought. Even the titles
of certain grammars of the period re-ilected the general tendency to lay down
categorical laws. Thus, for exam-Pie, the title: "Reflections on the Nature and
Property of Language in general, on the Advantages, Defects, and Manner of
Improving the English Tongue in Particular" by Thomas Stackhouse (1731) clearly
snows the aims of the writer, aims which were common to most of the 18th century
works on language, i. e. improving the language and fixing its laws for the use of the
people.
This genefafTrend 6f laftguage^theory is also expressed by Samuel Johnson in the
preface to his dictionary.
"Language," he writes, "is only the instrument of science, and the words are but the
signs of ideas. I wish, however, that the instrument might be less apt to decay, and
that the signs might be permanent, like the things which they denote."
However, adherence to the theoretical trends of the century was not universal. There
were some scholars who protested against arbitrarily imposing laws and restrictions
on the. language. Thus, for example, John Fell in his "Essay towards an English
Grammar" published in 1784 declares:
"It is certainly the business of a grammarian to find out, and not to make, the laws of
language."
In this work the author does not assume the character of a legislator, but appears as a
faithful compiler of the scattered laws.
"... It matters not what causes these customs and fashions owe their birth to. The
moment they become general they are laws of the language; and a grammarian can
only remonstrate how much so ever he disapprove."1
The eighteenth century literary trend was also influenced to a considerable -degree by
the rhetoric which since the Renaissance had played Tnoticeable role in all matters of
Tanguage.2
But the majority of language scholars were concerned with the use of words,
inasmuch as the lexical units and thЈir functioning are more observable and
discernible in the slow progress of language development. The well-known-article by
Jonathan Swift "A Proposal for the Correcting, Improving, and Ascertaining the
English Tongue" in its very title sums up the general attitude of scholars towards the
English of their century. The main issues of this document, remarkable in many ways,
centre around the use of words and set expressions.
Meanwhile, however, colloquial English, following its natural path of progress and
living its own .life, although it was subjected to some extent to the general tendencies
laid down by the men-of-letters, exhibited a kind of independence iir-the use of
words, expressions, syntax, and pronunciation.
The gap between the literary and colloquial English of the^JSth century was
widening. The restrictions forced on the written language are felt in the speech of. the
characters in the novels and plays"i3f~this
2 It is interesting to remark in passing that language theories of the 16th to the 18th
centuries were in general more concerned with what we would now call macrolinguis-
tics in contrast to the present time when the process of atomization of language facts
not infrequently overshadows observations concerning the nature and properties of
units of communication.
eriod.1 Their speech is under the heavy influence of literary English JLg therefore it is
erroneous to understand it as representing the norms of 18th century spoken English.
The n in^tЈ~&. •&JJk~ЈJMLjLV'J..jy trends in literary English are best summarized
in the following statement by McKnight:
"The spirit of purism was evidently alive in the early nineteenth century. The sense of
a classical perfection to be striven for survived from the eighteenth century. The
language must not only be made more regular, but it must be protected from the
corrupting influences that were felt to be on all sides. Vulgarisms Were to be avoided
and new words, if they were to be tolerated, must conform not only to analogy but to
good taste."2
This puristic jplrit. ;;д^_щуеа1^ггшп1у in the attitude towards vocab-ulary "" afuT
"pronunciat ion^ SyWacfical and morphological changes are fTSFW"at?J^Mf
aslexical and phonetic ones and therefore are less exposed to the criticism of the
purists.
Many new words that were coming into use as, for example, reliable, environment,
len that the'y were 'unnecessary innovations replacing, "e. g., t raster fhyrs^ Ufances
and long. Macaulay protested against the use 'of talented, influential, gentlemanly.
The tendency to protest against innovation, however, gradually gave way to new
trends, those of the 19th century, which can be ^defined as the beginning of the
recognition of colloquial English as a variety of the national language. Colloquial
words and expressions cre-"ated by the people began to pour into literary English.
The literary critics and men-of-letters objected to the maxims laid down by their
predecessors and began to lay the foundation for new theoretical concepts of the
literary language.
Thus De Quincey in his essay on rhetoric declares:
"...since Dr. Johnson's time the freshness of the idiomatic style has been too
frequently abandoned for the lifeless mechanism of a style purely bookish and
mechanical."3 - "The restriction of the English vocabulary which was promoted by
the classicizing tendencies of the eighteenth century," writes McKnight, "was
appreciably loosened by the spirit which produced the Romantic movement."4
However, the purists never ceased to struggle against new coinages and there wer$
special lists of proscribed words and expressions. The constant struggle of those who
endeavour to safeguard the purity of their language against new creations or
borrowings, which alone can supply the general need for means to render new ideas,
seems to repre-sent a natural process in language development. It is this struggle that
toakes the literary language move forward and forces the recognition
of new forms, words and syntactical patterns. The works of Byron, Thackeray,
Dickens and other classic writers of the 19th century show how rnjjjyjKords from the
colloquial language of that period have been adopted into standard literary English.
Tffioffier feature of""ГЭПГсепТйгу'literary English to be noted is a more or less
firmly established differentiation of styles, though this process wasjiotjully
appreciated by the scholars of the period. ,;j
The dichotomy of written and oral intercourse wfiich manifested ^ itself mainly in
the widening of the gap between.the literary and non- •' * literary forms, so typical of
18th century English, led the way to a cluster of varieties within the literary language,
viz. to its stratification into different styles. A particularly conspicuous instance of
this stratification was the singling out of poetic diction and the establishment of a set
of rules by which the language of poetry was governed. Strict laws concerning word
usage and imagery in poetry had long been recognized as a specific feature of the
style of poetry.
The norms of 19th century literary English were considerably influ- | enced'by
certain other styles of language, whlcttbythi^penod had already j shaped themselves
as separate styles. By this period the shaping of | the newspaper style, the publicistic
style, the style of scientific prose J and the official style may be said to have been
completed and language scholars found themselves faced with new problems. It
becamrineces^lry I to seek the foundation and distinctive characteristics of each
functional style of language and analyse them. t
The shaping of the belles-lettres prose style called forth a new system of expressive
means and stylistic devices. There appeared a stylistic device — represented speech
(see p. 236) — which quickly developed :r into one of the most popular means by
which the thought and feeling ; of a character in a novel can be shown, the speech o.f
the character combining with the exposition of the author to give a fuller picture. The
; favourite stylistic devices of the prose style of the 18th century, rhetori- ^ cal
questions, climax, anaphora, antithesis and some others gave way t to more lively
stylistic devices, as breaking off the narrative, detached ** constructions and other
devices so typical of the norms of lively collo- 1 quial speech. Stylistic devices
regarded with suspicion and disapproval in the 18th century were beginning to gain
popularity.
The realistic tendencies and trends in English literature during this period made it
necessary to introduce non-literary forms of English when depicting characters from
the so-called lower classes through the idiosyncrasies of their speech. In-this
connection another feature must be mentioned when characterizing the ways and
means by which literary English of the 19th century progressed. This was a more
liberal admission of dialectal worlds and words from the Scottish dialect in particular.
To" a considerable extent this must be attributed to Robert Burns, whose poems were
widely read and admired and who, as is known, wrote in the Scottish (Scots) dialect.
The novels of Walter Scott also aided the process.
In summing up the main features of the struggle to establish norms for 19th century
literary English, special mention must be made of the
o tendencies characteristic of this period. One was
the principles of which were laid clown in the 17th and 18ПГ centu-
es and which became manifest in the struggle against any innovation no matter where
it came from/The purist was equally against words borrowed from other languages,
the coinage of new words and also seman-Tfc changes in the native stock of words.
This reactionary purism orientated the literary language towards a revival of old
words which had gone out of use and of constructions typical of earlier stages in the
history of English.
The other tendency was to draw on the inexhaustible resources of the vernacular both
in vocabulary and in the lively syntactical patterns 61 colloquial English so suggestive
of the warm intonation of the human voice. This tendency was particularly observable
in the belles-lettres style of language and Byron, Thackeray and Dickens contributed
greatly to the enrichment of the literary language.
~~ The end of the century led practically to no change in the general direction of the
two tendencies. But there is undoubted evidence that the second of the two above-
mentioned tendencies has taken the upper hand. Reactionary purism is dying down
and giving way to strong modernizing tendencies, which flourish particularly in the
newspaper "style and the belles-lettres style. The recognition in the 20th century 'of
the everyday speech of the people as a variety of the national language has done much
to legalize the colloquial form of English which, until the present century had been
barred from the domain of language studies. We must point out that the functional
styles of language have shaped themselves within the literary form of the English
language. The division of the standard English language into two varieties, written
and spoken (the literary language and the colloquial language), which was recognized
earlier and which was acknowledged as a natural coexistence, now goes alongside the
problem of the "closed" systems of styles of language.

6. MEANING FROM A STYLISTIC POINT OF VIEW


Stylistics is a domain where meaning assumes paramount importance.. This is so
because the term 'meaning' is applied not only to words, word-combinations,
sentences but also to the manner of expression into which the matter is cast.
"The linguistic term т eani ng has been “defined in so many ways that there appears
an urgent need to clarify it; particularly in view of the fact that in so many lexical,
grammatical and phonetic SDs this category is treated differently. It has already been
mentioned that a stylistic device is mainly realized when a twofold application of
meaning is apparent.
At some period in the development of a certain trend in linguistic theory in America,
viz. descriptive linguistics, meaning was excluded from observations in language
science; it was considered an extra-linguistic category.
The tendency was so strong that R. Jakobson proposed the term "semantic invariant"
as a substitute for 'meaning'. "If, however, you dislike the word meaning because it is
too ambiguous," writes R. Jakobson, "then let us simply deal with semantic invariants,
no less important for linguistic analysis than the phonemic invariants."1
But this tendency has been ruled out by later research in language data. One of the
prominent American scientists, Wallace L. Chafe, is right when he states that "...the
data of meaning are both accessible to linguistic explanation and crucial to the
investigation of language structure — in certain ways more 'crucial than the data of
sound to which linguistic,studies have given such unbalanced attention."2
The problem of meaning in general linguistics deals mainly with such aspects of the
term as the interrelation between meaning and concept, meaning and sign, meaning
and referent. The general tendency is to regard meaning as something stable at a given
period of time. This is reasonable, otherwise no dictionary would be able to cope with
the problem of defining the meaning of words. Moreover, no communication would
be possible.
In stylistics meaning is also viewed as a category which is able to acquire
meariingsjnrposed on the words by the context. That is why such "meanings are
called contextual meanings. This category also takes under observation meanings
which have fallen out of use.
In stylistics it is important to discriminate shades or nuances of meaning, to atomize
the meaning, the component parts of which are now called the semes^ i.e. the smallest
units of which meaning of a Word consists. "A proper concern for meanings," writes
W. Chafe, "should lead to a situation where, in the training of linguists, practice in the
discrimination of concepts will be given at least as much time in the curriculum as
practice in the discrimination of sounds."3
It will be shown later, in the analysis of SDs, how important it is to discriminate
between the meanings of a given word or construction in order to adequately
comprehend the idea and purport of a passage and of a complete work.
It is now common knowledge that lexical meaning Differs from gram- , matical
meaning in more than one way. L e x i cat meaning refers the mind to some concrete
concept, phenomenon, or thing of objective reality, whether real or imaginary. Lexical
meaning is thus a means by which a word-fprm is made to express a definite concept.
G г а т m_a t i с a I meaning refers our mind to relations between words or to some
forms of-words or constructions bearing upon their structural functions in the
language-as-a-system. Grammatical meaning can thus be adequately called "structural
meaning".,
There are no words which are deprived of grammatical meaning inasmuch as all
words belong to some system and consequently have their
olace in the system, and also inasmuch as they always function in speech displaying
their functional properties. It is the same with sentences. Every sentence has its own
independent structural meaning. This structural meaning may in some cases be
influenced or affected by the lexical meanings of the components or by intonation. In
the sentence 'I shall never go to that place again1, we have a number of words with
lexical meanings (never, go, place, again) and words with only grammatical meaning
(/, shall, that) and also the meaning of the whole sentence, which is defined as a
structure in statement form.
But each of the meanings, being closely interwoven and interdependent, can none the
less be regarded as relatively autonomous and therefore be analyzed separately.
It is significant that words acquire different status when analyzed in isolation or in the
sentence. This double aspect causes in the long run the growth of the semantic
structure of a word, especially when the two aspects frequently interweave.
Words can be classed according to different principles: morphological "(parts of
ispech), semantic (synonyms, antonyms, thematic), stylis-lic (see classification on p.
72), and other types of classification. In each of these classifications lexical or/and
grammatical meanings assume different manifestations. In a morphological
classification words are grouped according to their grammatical meanings; in a
semantic classification, according to their logical (referential) meanings, in a stylistic
classification, according to their stylistic meaning.
Lexical meanings are closely related to concepts. They are sometimes identified with
concepts. But concept is a purely logical category, whereas meaning is a linguistic
one. In linguistics it is necessary to view meaning as the representation of a concept
through one of its properties. Concept, as is known, is versatile; it is characterized by
a number of properties. Meaning takes one of these properties and makes it represent
the concept as a whole. Therefore meaning in reference to concept becomes, as it
were, a kind of metonymy. This statement is significant inasmuch as it will further
explain the stylistic function of certain meanings. One and the same concept can be
represented in a number of linguistic manifestations (meanings) but, paradoxal though
it may sound, each manifestation causes a slight (and sometimes considerable)
modification of the concept, in other words, discloses latent or unknown properties^
of the concept.
"The variability of meanings," writes R. Jakobson, "their manifold and far-reaching
figurative shifts, and an incalculable aptitude for multiple paraphrases are just those
properties of natural language which induce its creativity and endow not only poetic
but even scientific activities with a continuously inventive sweep. Here the
indefiniteness and creative power appear to be wholly interrelated."1
The inner property of language, which may be defined as self-generating, is apparent
in meaning. It follows then that the creativity of
guistics in Relation to Other Sciences.— In: "Selected-Works".
language so often referred to in this work, lies in this particular category of language
science — meaning.
The variability of "meanings caused by the multifarious practical application of the
basic (fundamental) meaning when .used in speech has led to the birth of a notion
known as polysemanticism. This is a linguistic category which contains a great degree
of ambiguity. On the one hand, we perceive meaning as a representation of a definite
concept by means of a word. On the other hand, we state that the same concept may
be expressed by different meanings all belonging to the same word.
Still more confusing is the well-recognized fact that different concepts may be
expressed by one and the same word. But such is the very nature of language, where
contradiction, ambiguity and uncertainty run parallel with rigidity, strictness and
conformity to standard requirements of grammatical acceptability.
S. D. Katznelson remarks in this connection that "a lexical meaning may... conflict
with the basic functional meaning of its class remaining, however, within its own
class."1
The ability of a word to be polysemantic, i.e. to comprise several lexical meanings,
becomes a crucial issue for stylistic studies. It must be clearly understood that the
multitude of meanings that a word may have is not limited by dictionaries where this
multitude has already been recognized and fixed. Some meanings, which for the time
being have not as yet been recognized as legitimate members of the semantic structure
of the given word, may, in the course of time, through frequent use become such and
subsequently become fixed in dictionaries. Convincing proof of this are the so-called
addenda to new editions of dictionaries where new meanings are presented as already
recognized facts of language.
A stylistic approach to the issue in question takes into consideration the fact that
every word, no^matter how rich in meanings it may be, leaves the door open for nЈw
shades and nuances and even for independent meanings. True, such meanings are not
always easily accepted as normal. Moreover, many of them are rejected both by
scholars and the people and therefore are not recognized as facts of language. Such
meanings become obscure in the family of lexical meanings of a word; they can only
be traced back to the original use. However, some of these meanings are occasionally
re-established in the vocabulary at a later time.
Lexical meaning, be it repeated, is a conventional category. Very frequently it does
not reflect the properties of tiie thing or the phenomenon it refers to. However, some
meanings are said to be motivated, i.e. they point to some quality or feature of the
object. The conventional character of meaning can best be illustrated by the following
example. In Russian the word * белье' is a general term denoting all kinds of articles
made from flax: underwear, household articles, shirts and so on. The origin of the
word is белый (white). In English this concept is denoted by the word 'linen', wrhich
is the name of the material (Latin linutn —
* Кацнельсон С. Д. Типология языка и речевое мышление. Л., 1972, с. 154. 60
flax) from which the articles mentioned were made. In German the same concept is
'die Wasche', i.e. something that can be washed, a process, not the material, not the
colour. The concept from which all meanings branch off is known as the inner form of
the word.
So we see that different properties, essential, non-essential, optional and even
accidental may be taken to name the object. The chosen property in the course of time
loses its semantic significance and dependence on the inner form andlhe word begins
to function in the language as a generic term, a sign for various objects.
Here we approach the theory of signs, which is so important in understanding the
relative 'character of language units and their functioning.
By a sign, generally speaking, we understand one material object capable of denoting
another object or idea. The essential property of a sign is its relatively conventional
character. A sign does not possess the properties of the object it denotes. It is made to
denote another object by its very nature. In other words, people impose on certain
objects the quality to denote other objects. Thus, a flag is the sign of a nation (state), a
cross is the sign of Christianity, a plain gold ring is the sign of marriage, a uniform is
the sign of a definite calling or profession, a crown is the sign of monarchy. These are
sign-symbols. There are also signs which are not material objects.
The science that deals with the general theory of signs is called s e-mio-t i с s. It
embraces different systems of signs,— traffic signs, communication between different
species of living beings, etc.
The following is a widely recognized definition of a sign:
"A sign is a material, sensuously perceived object (phenomenon, action) appearing in
the process of cognition and communication in the capacity of a representative
(substitute) of another object (or objects) and used for receiving, storing, recasting and
transforming information about this object."1
Signs are generally used in a definite system showing the interrelations and
interdependence of the components of the system. This system is called а с о d e.
Thus we speak of a language code whichuconsists of different signs—lexical,
phonetic, morphological, syntactical and stylistic. Every code is easily recognized by
its users, they understand the-nature, meaning, significance and interrelation of the
signs comprising the given code. Moreover, the user of the code must be well aware
of possible obstacles in deciphering the meaning of different signs.
This presupposes a preliminary knowledge not only of the basic meanings of the signs
in question but also the derivative meanings and the minimum of semes of each
meaning.
One of the essential features of a sign, as has been stated above, is HS conventional,
arbitrary character. However, the language system, unlike other semiotic systems, has
the following distinctive feature: navmg once been established and having been in
circulation for some Period of time, it becomes resistant to substitutions. No effort to
replace a sound, pr a morpheme, or a word, not to mention a structural pattern,
has been successful. If an innovation is forced by reiterated usage into the-language-
as-a-system it inevitably undergoes a certain modification of its meaning (ideographic
or stylistic).
It will be noticed here that we often speak of signs and meanings, having in mind
words. To clear up possible ambiguity let us make it clear that words are units of
language which can be compared to signs, for they are materialized manifestations of
ideas, things, phenomena, events, actions, properties and other concepts, whereas
meanings are ' the products of our mental decisions. The materialized manifestations
of words take the-form either of a chain of vowel and consonant sounds (sound
waves) or of a chain of graphical signs which are the interpretation of these sounds.
Meanings are not material phenomena. That is why we frequently meet the definition
of the word as having a twofold nature: material and spiritual. The form of the word
which, as has been stated above, also contains meaning differs from the word only in
one respect, viz. it is not independent, in other words, it cannot be used autonomously.
It is always a part of a word.
For example, the word spirit is a self-sustained unit. But the suffix -at in spiritual is
not so, though it possesses both material form and a meaning (grammatical: a unit that
can form an adjective).
This contradictory nature of a word is the source by which its semantic wholeness,-on
the one hand, and its diversity on the other, is caused. The study of how words
gradually develop, change and lose their meaning and acquire new ones is the subject
of lexicology and lexicography.
A word can be defined as a unit of language functioning within the sentence or within
a part ofit which by its sound or graphical form expresses a concrete or abstract notion
or a grammatical ...notion through "one of its meanings and which is capable of
enriching its semantic structure by acquiring new meanings and losing old ones.
To expjain the sernantic structure of a word is not an easy task. Only lexicographers
know how difficult it is. This difficulty is mainly caused by the very nature of the
word. It may in some circumstances reveal such overtones of meaning as are not
elements of the code.
The following analogy will not come amiss. There are in nature sounds that we do not
hear, there is light that we do not see, and heat that we do not feel. Special apparatus
is necessary to detect these phenomena. Almost the same cart be .said about almost
every language sign: sound, morpheme, word, sentence, stylistic device. These signs
can bring to life subtleties of meaning which, are passed unnoticed by the untrained
mind and which can be detected only through the employment of a special method,
called supralinear analysis. This method requires some faith in intuition. Most
scholars, however, rely on well-verified facts to the detriment of the evidence of the
senses.x Max Born, the physicist, gives a well verified example. He says that if we
speak of vacillations and waves in space, we necessarily presuppose the existence
f the object to which the verb Vacillate' refers. * It will be a violation of this well-
established law if we use a verb not having in mind (explicitly or implicitly) the
object to which it refers.
We have dealt at some length with such concepts as meaning and sign because these
are the crucial issues of stylistics. Nothing can ever be achieved in stylistic studies
without a thorough understanding of these highly complicated notions.
There is a difference in the treatment of the potentialities of language signs in
grammar, phonetics and lexicology, on the one hand, and in stylistics, on the other. In
stylistics we take it for granted that a word has an almost unlimited potentiality of
acquiring new meanings, whereas in lexicology this potentiality is restricted to
semantic and grammatical acceptability. In stylistics the intuitive, and therefore to a
very great extent subjective, perception of meaning in words is raised to the level of
actuality. The issue touched upon here is the well-known contradistinction between
the scientific (abstract), intellectually precise perception of world phenomena and the
sensory, intuitive, vague and uncertain impressions of an artistic perception of these
same phenomena. Max Born has it somewhat differently: "The representatives of one
group do not want to reject or to sacrifice the idea of the absolute and therefore
remain faithful to everything subjective. They create a picture of the world which is
not the result of a systemic method; but of the unexplained activity of religious,
artistic or poetic expressions of other people. Here reign religious zeal, aspirations to
brotherhood, and often fanaticism, intolerance and the suppression of intellect... The
representatives of the opposing group, on the contrary, reject the idea of the absolute.
They discover frequently with horror that inner feelings cannot be expressed in
comprehensible forms." 2
Leaving aside the rather ambiguous pronouncement concerning the aspirations of
those who adhere to the idea of the absolute, we cannot but admit that those who
reject the intuitive in the analysis of language phenomena are prone to suppress
everything which arises from a sensory perception of language- in- act ion, thus
overlooking the fact that the intuitive is in the long run the result of accumulated
social experience.
It is of paramount importance in stylistics to bear in mind that concepts of pbjective
reality have different degrees of abstractness. This is adequately manifested in
language. Adjectives are more abstract in meaning than nouns. Adverbs may be
considered more abstract than adjectives inasmuch as they usually characterize an
abstract notion, action or state. Conjunctions and prepositions have a still higher
degree oi abstractness because it is not objects as such lhat they indicate, but tne
correlation of the concepts involved. Therefore we may consider conJunctions and
prepositions, and some auxiliary words as well, to be °n the borderline between
lexical and grammatical categories, or in errns of meaning, having a grammatical
meaning which suppresses the ie*ical meaning.
Within the grammatical classes of words there are also different degrees of
abstractness. Nouns, as is known, are divided into two large classes, abstract and
concrete. But this division does not correspond to the actual difference in the degree
of abstractness. This will be explained later when we come to illustrate abstractness
and concreteness.
A word, as is known, generalizes. Consequently, a word will always denote a concept,
no matter whether it names a definite object or em-braces all the objects of a given
kind.
The problem of abstractness, and especially the degree of abstractness, is of vital
importance in stylistics in more than one respect. Stylistics deSls not only with the
aesthetic and emotional impact of the language. It also studies the means of producing
impressions in our mind. Impression is the first and rudimentary stage of concept. But
the concept through a reverse process may build another kind of impression.
Impressions that are secondary to concepts, in other words, which have been born by
concepts, are called i т a g e r y.
Imagery is mainly produced by the interplay of different meanings. Concrete objects
are easily perceived by the senses. Abstract notions are perceived by the mind. When
an abstract notion is by the force of the mind represented through a concrete object, an
image is the result. Imagery may be built on the interrelation of two abstract notions
or two concrete objects or an abstract and a concrete one.
Three types of meaning can be distinguished, which we shall call logical, emotive and
nominal respectively.
Logic a I mean ( n g is the precise naming of a feature of the idea, phenomenon
or'object, the name by which we recognize the whole of the concept. This meaning is
also synonymously called referential meaning or direct meaning. We shall use the
terms logical and referential as being most adequate for our purpose.
Referential meanings are liable to change. As a result the referential meanings of one
word may denote different concepts. It is therefore necessary tb distinguish between
primary and secondary referential, or logical, meaning.
Thus, the, adverb inwardly has the primary logical meaning of * internally',
or^within'. Its secondary logical meanings are: 'towards the centre', 'mentally',
'secretly', which are to some extent derived from the primary meaning.1 Some
dictionaries give a very extended list of primary and secondary logical meanings, and
it is essential for stylistic purposes to distinguish them, as some stylistic devices are
built on the interplay of primary and secondary logical meanings.
All the meanings fixed by authoritative English and American dictionaries comprise
what is called the semantic structure of t he w о r d. The meanings that are to be found
in speech or writing and which are accidental should not be regarded as components
of the semantic structure of the word. They may be transitory, inasmuch as they
depend on the context. They are contextual meanings.
1 Such meanings are therefore also called derivative meanings.
Let us compare the meanings of the word presence in the following two sentences.
"The governer said that he would not allow the presence of federal troops on the soil
of his State."
"...the General has been faced with the problem of the country's presence on foreign
soil, the stubborn resistance of officers and officials..." .'
In the first sentence the word presence merely means '...the state of being present',
whereas in the second sentence the meaning of the word expands into '...occupation',
i. e. the seizure and control of an area, especially foreign territory, by* military forces.
The first meaning is the dictionary meaning of the word. The second meaning is a
coni^duaLxme. ItJHiyes only injthe givenjext and disappears if the contextls~altered.
However, wffiere"are^(Iefmife reasons to assume that a number of derivative
meanings are given place in dictionaries on the basis of contextual meanings. When
the two meanings clearly co-exist in the utterance, we say there is an interaction of
dictionary and contex- ^ tual meanings. When only one meaning is perceived by the
reader, we are с sure to find this meaning in dictionaries as a derivative one.
Sometimes it is difficult to decide whether there is a simultaneous materialization of
two dictionary logical meanings or an interplay of a dictionary and a contextual
meaning. The difficulty is caused, on the one hand, by insufficient objective criteria
of what should be fixed in , dictionaries as already established language facts and, on
the other hand, by deliberate political, aesthetic, moral and other considerations on the
part of the compilers of the dictionaries.
Thus, in Byron's use of the word arise in the line "Awake, ye sons of Spain, awake,
arise\" the word arise has the long-established meaning of 'revolt'. It is not contextual
any longer. But no English or American dictionary fixes this particular meaning in the
semantic structure of the word, and it is left to the ability of the attentive reader to
supply the obvious meaning. •'"•"".
The same can be said about the word appeasement. There is an impp-cit^difference in
the treatment of the semantic structure of this word in British and American
dictionaries. In no British dictionary will you find the new derivative meaning, viz. 'a
sacrifice of moral principle in order to avert aggression'. Some modern American
dictionaries include this meaning in the semantic structure of the word 'appeasement7.
The reason for the difference is apparent—the British prime minister Chamberlain in
1938 played an ignoble role in Munich, sacrificing Czechoslovakia to Hitler's greed.
The new meaning that was attached to the word (in connection with this historical
event) cannot now be removed from its semantic structure.
A dictionary meaning is materialized in the context; a contextual
meaning is born in the context. However, dictionaries, though the only
enable sources of information regarding the meanings of a given word,
PPly very diverse and even contradictory principles in ascertaining
e general acceptability and recognition of some of the shades of meaning з x.
which are in process of being shaped as independent meanings. Thus, to excuse
oneself in the meaning of 'to leave', as in 'Soames excused himself directly after
dinner* (Galsworthy); or the meaning of a thought = ^ little' as in * A thought more
fashionably than usual' (Galsworthy) are fixed -as separate meanings in some modern
British and American dictionaries, but are neglected in others.
Every word possesses an enormous potentiality for generating new meanings. This
power is often under-estimated by scholars who regard a word as a unit complete in
itself and acknowledge a new-born meaning only when it has firmly asserted itself in
language and become accepted by the majority of the language community. But not to
see the latent possibilities of a word is not to understand the true nature of this unit of
language.
The potentiality of words can also be noted in regard to emotive me an ing. Emotive
meaning also materializes a concept in the word, but, unlike logical meaning, emotive
meaning has reference not directly ""to things or phenomena of objective reality, but
to the feelings and emotions of the speaker towards these things or to his emotions as
such. Therefore the emotive meaning bears reference to things, phenomena or * ideas
through a kind of evaluation of thejji. For example:
I feel so darned lonely. (Graham Green, "The Quiet American".) He classified him as
a man of monstrous selfishness; he did
not want to see that knife descend, but he felt it for one great
fleeting instant. (London)
The italicized words have no logical meaning, only^emotive meaning. Their function
is to reveal the subjective, evaluating attitude of the writer to the things or events
spoken of. Men-of-letters themselves are well aware that words may reveal a
subjective evaluation and sometimes use it for definite stylistic effects, thus calling
the attention of the reader to the meaning of such words, "Thus, for example, in the
following passage from "The Man of Property" by Galsworthy:
"She was not a flirt, not even a coquette—words dear to the heart of his generation,
which loved to define things by a good, broad, inadequate word—but she was
dangerous."
Here the words 'flift' and ^coquette' retain some of their logical mean-., ing. They
mean a person (particularly a girl) who endeavours to attract the opposite sex, who
toys with her admirers. But both words have acquired an additional significance,'viz. a
derogatory shade of meaning. This shade may grow into an independent meaning and
in this case will be fixed in dictionaries as having a special emotive meaning, as, for
example, have the words fabulous, terrifying, stunning, spectacular, swell, top, smart,
cute, massive and the like.
Жапу words acquire an emotive meaning only in a definite context. In that casejve
say that the word has a cjni t e*x t и a I e т о t i v e meaning.
Stephen Ullmann holds that
"Only the context can show whether a word should be taken as a purely objective
expression, or whether it is primarily designed to convey and arouse emotions. This is
obvious in the case of words like liberty, and justice, which are frequently charged
with emotional implications. But even colourless everyday terms may, in freak
contexts, acquire unexpected emotional overtones, as, for instance, 'wall' in this
passage- from a Midsummer Night's Dream:
'And thou, О wall, О sweet, О lovely wall, ...Thanks, courteous wall... О wicked
wall.'"1 Ullmann's point of view is only partly true. There are, of course, words
which, as we have pointed out, may acquire emotive meaning in a context. Ordinarily
though, and particularly when taken as isolated lexical units, they can hardly be said
to possess emotive meaning. But Ullmann's opinion that only the context can inject
emotive meaning into words, contradicts the facts. In the vocabulary of almost any
European language there are words which are undoubtedly bearers of emotive
meaning. These are interjections, oaths or swear-words, exclamatory^ words (variants
of interjectioris)^ЈZg^
intensifying adjectives some of which have already been mentioned: ThH^ emotive
meaning of some"orTKese classes of words is so strong that it suppresses the co-
listing logical meaning, as, for example, in stunning and smart. It is significant that
these words are explained in dictionaries by means of synonymous words charged
with strong emotional implications, i.e. words that direct the mind not to objective
things, ideas or phenomena but to the feelings. Thus, the word smart is explained in |
"The Penguin English Dictionary" thus: "stinging, pungent, keen; vigorous, brisk;
clever, intelligent; impertinent; shrewd; witty; spruce, neat, gay, fashionable!"2
Other classes of words with emotive meaning have entirely lost their logical meaning
and function in the. language as interjections. Such words as alas, oh, ah, pooh, darn,
gosh and the like have practically no logical meaning at all; words like the devil,
Christ, God, goodness graci-ows^etc., are frequently used only in their emotive
meaning. The same сапТэе said about The words bloody, damn and other expletives.
Contrary To Stephen Ullmann, we think that emotive meaning is inherent in a definite
group of words and adherent to many words denoting emotions and feelings even
when taken out of the context.
Ullmann's example of the word wall as bearing strong emotive meaning does not
stand scrutiny. He overlooks thЈ*real bearers of emotive meaning, viz. the words
preceding or following it: 0, sweet, lovely (these three words are repeated several
times), courteous, wicked. It goes without saying that these words strongly colour3
the word wall, but nq emotive meaning as a counterpart of logical meaning can be
observed here.* Colon ring is a loose term. It is used here as a synonym to contextual
emotive meaning. But it may be used further on when wewant to point out the effect
on the utterance as a whole of a word with a strong emotive meaning.
JEmotive meaning of wordsplays jn impprtant role in stylistics. Therefore It should
never be underrated. A very Keen eye or' ear "will-always distinguish elements of
emotive meaning. ^Emotional colouring may be regarded as a rudimentary stage of
emotive" meaning: This js generally fixed as an independent meaning in good
dictionaries. Anything recognizable as having a-strong impact on our senses may be
considered as having emotive meaning, either dictionary or contextual. "" And finally
we come to nominal meaning. There are words which, while expressing concepts,
indicate a particular object out of a class. In other words, these units of the language
serve the purpose of Singling out one definite and singular object but of a whole class
of sim-'ilar objects. These^ words are classified in grammars as proper nouns. The
nature of these words can be understood if we have a clear idea of the difference
between the two main aspects of a word: "nomination" and "signification". These
aspects are also called "reference" and "signification" or "denotation" and
"connotation". The difference can roughly be illustrated by the following example.
Let us take the word table. The first thing that appears in our mind is the general
notion deprived of any concrete features or properties. This is the signification. But by
the word table we may also denote a definite table. In this case we use a definite
article and the meaning becomes nominating. But we may also fix a definite name to
the object which we want to be recognized as a unique object because of its peculiar
properties. In this way proper names appear. Their function is not to single out one of
the objects of the class for one particular occasion, as in the
д case with the use of the definite article, but to make it the bearer of the properties
which our mind Has attached to it. Thus nominal meaning is a derivative logical
meaning. To distinguish nominal meaning from logical meaning the former is
designated by a capital letter. Such words as .Smith* Longfellow, Everest, Black Sea,
Thames, Byron are said to fiave nominal meaning. The logical meaning from which
they originate may in tHe course of time be forgotten and therefore not easily traced
back. Most proper names have nominal meanings which may be regarded as
homonyms of common nouns with their logical or emotive meanings, as Hope,
Browning, Taylor, Scotland, Black, Chandler, Chester (from the Latin word castra
—'camp'). Hence logical meanings which nominate an object, at the same time signify
the whole class of these objects. Nominal "meanings which nominate an object are
deprived of the latter function UЈЈ2^^ It must be remembered, however, tEIFThe
nbmmarmeaning will always be secondary to the logical mean-
The process of development of meaning may go still further. A nominal mejjimgmav
assume a logical meaning due to certain external cir-cumsf ances7THe"FesuItlslhat a
logical meaning takes its origin in a norn-rnah*TreHTnng;r Some feature of a person
which has made him or her no-TiceaBTFarid which is recognized by the community
is made the basis for the new logical meaning. Thus dunce (a dullard, a stupid person)
is derived from the personal name, Duns Scotus, a medieval scholastic; hooligan (a
ruffian) is probably derived from the name of a rowdy farn-
cf the Irish name Houligan, in a comic song popular about 1885; 1 n//frefuse to do
business with, combine together against a person by к skins off all relations with
him). The verb boycott was first used in 1ЯЯО to describe the action of the Land
League towards Captain Boycott, Irish landlord. The^nominal meanings of these
words have now faded аП av and we perceive only" l>ne[thelogica[ meaning: But
sometimes the ^ress"o! "'Ш^11Гп^11Ж1пЯ'11п1в;апш^ to" a worcTwith a logical
meaning Fkes place, as it were, before our eyes. This is done for purely stylistic
purposes arid is regarded as a special stylistic device (see p. 164).

PART II STYLISTIC CLASSIFICATION OF THE ENGLISH


VOCABULARY
I. GENERAL CONSIDERATIONS
Like any linguistic issue the classification of the vocabulary here suggested is for
purely stylistic purposes. This is important for the course in as much as some SDs are
based on the interplay of different stylistic aspects of words. It follows then that a
discussion of the ways the English vocabulary can be classified from a stylistic point
of view should be given proper attention.
In order to get a more or less clear idea of the word-stock of any language, it must
be presented as a system, the elements of which are interconnected, interrelated
and yet independent. Some linguists, who clearly see the systematic character of
language as a whole, deny, however, the possibility of systematically classifying the
vocabulary. They say that the word-stock of any language is so large and so
heterogeneous that it is impossible to formalize it and therefore present it in any
system. The words of a language are thought of as a chaotic body whether viewed
from their origin and development or from their present state. .
Indeed, the coinage of new lexical units, the development of meaning, the
differentiation of words according to their stylistic evaluation and their spheres of
usage, the correlation between meaning and concept and other problems connected
with vocabulary are so multifarious and varied that it is difficult to grasp the
systematic character of the word-stock of a language, though it co-exists with the
systems of other levels—phonetics, morphology and syntax.
To deny the systematic character of the word-stock of a language amounts to denying
the systematic character of language as a whole, words being elements in the general
system of language.
The word-stock of a language may be represented as a definite system in which
different aspects of words may be singled out as interdependent. A special branch
of linguistic science —lexicology—has done much to classify vocabulary. A glance at
the contents of any book on lexicology will suffice to ascertain the outline of the
system of the word-stock of the given language.
For our purpose, i.e. for linguistic stylistics, a special type of classification, viz.
stylistic classification, is most important.
In accordance with the already-mentioned division of language into literary and
colloquial, we may represent the whole of the word-stock
-Speciai Literary Vocabulary
-Common Literary Vocabulary
-Neutral Words
-Common CoUo^uiaL Vocabulary
-Professionalisms i special Colloquial Vocabulary (non-Literary)
of the English language as being divided into three main layers: the literary
layer, the neutral layer and the colloquial l а у е r. The literary and the colloquial
layers contain a number of subgroups each of which has a property it shares with all
the subgroups within the layer. This common property, which unites the different
groups of words within the layer, may be called its aspect. The aspect of the literary
layer is its markedly bookish character. It is this that makes the layer more or less
stable. The aspect of the colloquial layer of words is its lively spoken character. It is
this that makes it unstable, fleeting.
The aspect of the neutral layer is its universal character. That means it is unrestricted
in its use. It can be employed in all styles of language and in all spheres of human
activity. It is this that makes the layer the most stable of all.
The literary layer of words consists of groups accepted as legitimate members of the
English vocabulary. They have no local or dialectal character. '
The colloquial layer of words as qualified in most English or American dictionaries is
not infrequently limited to a definite language community or confined to a special
locality where it circulates.
The literary vocabulary consists of the following groups of words: 1. common
literary; 2. terms and learned words; 3. poetic words; 4. archaic words; 5. barbarisms
and foreign words; 6. literary coinages including nonce-words.
The colloquial vocabulary falls into the following groups: 1. common "colloquial
words; 2. slang; 3. jargonisms; 4. professional words; 5. dialectal words; 6. vulgar
words; 7. colloquial coinages.
The common literary, neutral and common colloquial words are grouped under
the term standard English vocabulary. Other groups in the literary layer are
regarded as special literary vocabulary ^id those in the collpquial layer are regarded as
special colloquial, (non-literary) vocabulary. The accompanying diagram on p. 71
illustrates this classification graphically.

2. NEUTRAL, COMMON LITERARY AND COMMON COLLOQUIAL


VOCABULARY
Neutral words, which form the bulk of the English vocabulary, are used in
bottTliterary and colloquial language. Neutral words are the main source of
synonymy and polysemy. It is the neutral stock of words that is so prolific in the
production of new meanings.
The wealth of the neutral stratum of words is often overlooked. This is due to their
inconspicuous character. But their faculty for assuming new meanings and generating
new stylistic variants is often quite amazing. This generative power of the neutral
words in the English language is multiplied by the very nature of the language itself.
It has been estimated that most neutral English words are of monosyllabic character,
as, in the process of development from Old English to Modern English, most of the
parts of speech lost their distinguishing suffixes. This phenomenon has led to the
development of conversion as the most productive means of word-building. Word
compounding is not so productive as conversion or word derivation, where a new
word is formed because of a shift in the part of speech in the first case and by the
addition of an affix in the second. Unlike all other groups, the neutral group of words
cannot be considered as having a special stylistic colouring, whereas both literary and
colloquial words have a definite stylistic colouring.
Common literary words are chiefly used in writing and in polished speech. One
can always tell a literary word from a colloquial word. The reason for this lies in
certain objective features of the literary layer of words. What these objective features
are, is difficult to say because as yet no objective criteria have been worked out. But
one of them undoubtedly is that literary units stand in opposition to colloquial units.
This is especially apparent when pairs of synonyms, literary and colloquial, can be
formed which stand in contrasting relation.
The following synonyms illustrate the relations that exist between the neutral, literary
and colloquial words in the English language.
Colloquial
kid
daddy
chap
get opt
go on
teenager
flapper
(go ahead get going make a move
Neutral
child father fellow go away continue-boy {girl) young girl / begin 1 start
Literary
infant
parent
associate
retire
proceed
youth (maiden)
maiden
commence
It goes without saying that these synonyms are not only stylistic but ideographic as
well, i. e. there is a definite, though slight, semantic difference between the words.
But this is almost- always the case with synonyms. There are very few absolute
synonyms in English just as there are in any language. The main distinction between
synonyms remains stylistic. But stylistic difference may be of various kinds: it may
lie in the emotional tension connoted in a word, or in the sphere of application, or in
the degree of the quality denoted. Colloquial words are always more emotionally
coloured than literary ones. The neutral stratum of words, as the term itself implies,
has no degree of emotiveness, nor have they any distinctions in the sphere of usage.
Both literary and colloquial words have their upper and lower ranges. The lower
range of literary words approaches the neutral layer and has a markedly obvious
tendency to pass into that layer. The same may be said of the upper range of the
colloquial layer: it can very easily pass into the neutral layer. The lines of
demarcation between common colloquial and neutral, on the one hand, and
common literary and neutral, on the other, are blurred. It is here that the
process of inter-penetration of the stylistic strata becomes most apparent.
Still the extremes remain antagonistic and therefore are often used to bring about a
collision of manners of speech for special stylistic purposes. The difference in the
stylistic aspect of words may colour the whole of an utterance.
In this example from "Fanny's First Play" (Shaw), the difference between the common
literary and common colloquial vocabulary is clearly seen.
"DORA: Oh, I've let.it out. Have I? (contemplating Juggins ' approvingly as he places
a chair for her between the table and the sideboard). But he's the right sort: I can.see
that (buttonholing him). You won't let it out downstairs, old man, will you?
JUGGINS: The family can rely on my absolute discretion."
The words in Juggins's answer are on the border-line between common literary and
neutral, whereas the words and expressions used by Dora are clearly common
colloquial, not bordering on neutral.
This example from "David Copperfield" (Dickens) illustrates the use of literary
English words which do not border on neutral:
"My dear Copperfield," said Mr. Micawber, "this is luxurious. This is a way of life
which reminds me of a period when I was myself in a state of celibacy, and Mrs.
Micawber had not yet been solicited to plight her faith at the Hymeneal ,altar."
"He means, solicited by him, Mr. Copperfield," said Mrs. Micawber, archly. "He
cannot answer for others."
"My dear," returned Mr. Micawber with sudden seriousness, "I have no desire to
answer for others. I am too well aware that when, in the inscrutable decrees of Fate,
you were reserved for me, it is possible you may have been reserved for one destined,
after a protracted struggle, at length to fall a vktim to pecuniary .involvements of a^
complicated nature. I understand your allusion, my love, I regret it, but I can bear it."
"Micawber!" exclaimed Mrs. Micawber, in tears. "Have I de-" served this! IT who
never have deserted you; who never will desert you, Micawber!"
"My love," said Mr. Micawber, much affected, "you will forgive, and our old and
tried friend Copperfield will, I am sure, forgive the moitientary laceration of a
wounded spirit, made sensitive by a recent collision with the Minion of Power—in
other words, with a ribald Turacock attached to the waterworks — and will pity, not
condemn, its excesses."
There is a certain analogy between the interdependence of common literary words and
neutral ones, on the one hand, and common colloquial words and neutral ones, on the
other. Both sets can be viewed as being in invariant — variant relations. The neutral
vocabulary may be viewed as the invariant of the standard English vocabulary. The
stock of words forming the neutral stratum should in this case be regarde3 as an
abstraction. The words of this stratum are generally deprived of any concrete
associations and refer to the concept more or less directly. Synonyms of neutral
words, both colloquial and literary, assume a far greater degree of concreteness.
They generally present the same notions not abstractly but as a more or less concrete
image, that is, in a form perceptible by the senses. This perceptibility by the senses
causes subjective evaluations of the notion in question, or a mental image of the con-
cept. Sometimes an impact of a definite kind on the reader or hearer is the aim lying
behind the choice of a colloquial or a literary word rather than a neutral one.
In the diagram (p. 71), common colloquial vocabulary is represented as overlapping
into the standard English vocabulary and is therefore to be considered part of it. It
borders both on the neutral vocabulary and on the special colloquial vocabulary
which, as we shall see later, falls out of standard English altogether. Just as common
literary words lack homogeneity so do common colloquial words and set expressions.
Some of the lexical items belonging to this stratum are close to the non-standard
colloquial groups such as jargon-isms, professionalisms, etc. These are on the border-
line betwe.en the common colloquial vocabulary and the special colloquial or non-
standard vocabulary. Other words approach the neutral bulk of the English
vocabulary. Thus, the words teenager (a young girl or young man) and hippie (hippy)
(a young person who leads an unordered and unconventional life) are colloquial
words passing into the neutral vocabulary. They are gradually losing their non-
standard character and becoming widely recognized. However, they have not lost
their colloquial association and therefore still remain in the colloquial stratum of the
English vocabulary. So also are the following words and expressions: take (in 'as I
take it'^as I understand); to go for (to be attracted by, like very much, as in "You think
she still goes for the guy?"); guy (young man); to be gone on (—to be madly in love
with); pro (=a professional, e. g. a professional boxer, tennis-player, etc.).
The spoken language abounds in set expressions which, are colloquial in character, e.
g. all sorts of things, just a bit, How is life treating you?, so-so, What time do you
make it?, to hob-nob (=to be very friendly with, to drink together), so much the better,
to be sick and tired of, to be up to something.
The stylistic function of the different strata of the English vocabulary depends not so
much on the inner qualities of each of the groups, as on their interaction when they
are opposed to one another. However, the qualities themselves are not unaffected by
the function of the words, inasmuch as these qualities have been acquired in certain
environments. И is interesting to note that anything written assumes a greater degree
of significance than what is only spoken. If the spoken takes the place of the written
or vice versa, it means that we are faced with a stylistic device.
Certain set expressions have been coined within literary English and their use in
ordinary speech will inevitably make the utterance sound bookish. In .other words, it
will become literary. The following
are examples of set expressions which can be considered literary: in accordance with,
with regard to, by virtue of, to speak at great length, to lend assistance, to draw a
lesson, responsibility rests.
3. SPECIAL LITERARY VOCABULARY
a) Terms
"All scientists are linguists to some extent. They are responsible for devising a
consistent terminology, a skeleton language to talk about their subject-matter.
Philologists and philosophers of speech are in the peculiar position of having to
evolve a special language to talk about language itself."1
This quotation makes clear one of the essential characteristics of a term, viz. its highly
conventional character. A term is generally very easily coined and easily accepted;
and new coinages as easily replace out-d,ated ones.
This sensitivity to alteration is mainly due to the necessity of reflecting in
language the cognitive process maintained by scholars in analysing different
concepts and phenomena. One of the most characteristic features of a term is its
direct relevance to the system or set of terms used in a particular science,
discipline or art, i.e. to its nomenclature.
When a term is used otfr mind immediately associates it with a certain
nomenclature. A term is directly connected with the concept it denotes. A term,
unlike other words, directs the mind to the essential vquality of the thing,
phenomenon or action as seen by the scientist in the light of his own
conceptualization.
"A word is organically one with its meaning; likewise a term is one with a concept.
Conceptualization leaves, as it were, language behind, although the words remain as
(scientific or philosophical) term*. Linguistically the difference is important in that
terms are much mure easily substitutable by other terms than are words by other
words: it is easier to feplace, say, the term phonology by phonemics (provided I make
it clear what is meant), than to replace everyday words like table and chair by other
words." 2
Terms are mostly and predominantly used in special works dealing with the notions of
some branch of science. Therefore it may be said that they belong to the style of
language of science. But their use is not confined to this style. They may as well
appear in other styles—in newspaper style, in publicistic and practically in all other
existing styles of language. But their function in this case changes. They do not
always fulfil their basic function, that of bearing exact reference to a given concept.
When used in the belles-lettres style, for instance, a term may acquire a stylistic
function and consequently become a (sporadical)
SD. This happens when a term is used in such a way that two meanings are
materialized simultaneously.
The function of terms, if encountered in other styles, is either to indicate the technical
peculiarities of the subject dealt with, or to make some reference to the occupation of
a character whose language would naturally contain special words and expressions.
In this connection it is interesting to analyse the stylistic effect of the medical
terminology used by A. J. Cronjn in his novel "The Citadel". The frequent use of
medical terms in the novel is explained by its subject-matter—the life of a physician
—and also by the fact that the writer himself is a physician and finds it natural to use
medical terminology.
The piling up of difficult and special terms hinders the reader's understanding of the
text if he is not a specialist even when the writer strives to explain them. Moreover,
such an accumulation of special terminology often suggests that the author is
displaying his erudition. Maxim Gorki said that terms must not be overused. It has
been pointed out that those who are learning use far more complicated terms than
those who have already learned.
There is an interesting process going on in the development of any language. With the
increase of general education and the expansion of technique to satisfy the ever-
growing needs and desires of mankind, many words that were once terms have
gradually lost their quality as terms and have passed into the common literary or even
neutral vocabulary. This process may be called "de-terminization". Such words as
'radio', 'television' and the like have long been in-common use and their termi-
nological character is no longer evident.
Brian Foster in his book "The Changing English Language" writes:
"...science is one of the most powerful influences moulding the English language into
fresh shapes at the present time. Scientific writing is not highly esteemed for its
elegance—oneVecalls the tale of the scientist who alluded to a certain domain of
enquiry as a 'virgin field pregnant with possibilities'—but scientific jargon and modes
of thought inevitably come to the fore in a society which equates civilization with
chromium-plated bath taps. Nor does the process date from yesterday, for we have
long been talking of people being 'galvanized' into activity or going 'full steam ahead',
but nowadays this tendency to prefer technical imagery is ever-increasing, so that
science can truly be said to have 'sparked off a chain-reaction' in the linguistic
sphere."*
This quotation clearly shows how easily terms and terminological combinations
become de-terminized. We hardly-notice sometimes the terminological origin of the
words we use.
But such de-terminized words may by the force of a stylistic device become re-
established in their terminological function, thus assuming a twofold application,
which is the feature required of a stylistic device.
But when terms are used in their normal function as terms in a work °f belles-lettres,
they are or ought to be easily understood from the context so that the desired effect in
depicting the situation will be secured,
Here is an example of a moderate use of special terminology bordering on common
literary vocabulary.
"There was a long conversation—a long wait. His father came back to say it was
doubtful whether they could make the loan. Eight per cent, then being secured for
money, was a small rate of interest, considering its need. For ten per cent Mr. Kuzel
might make a call-loan. Frank went back to his employer, whose commercial choler
rose at the report." (Theodore Dreiser, "The Financier")
Such terms as 'loan', 'rate of interest', and the phrase 'to secure for money' are widely
known financial terms which to the majority of the English and American reading
public need no explanation. The terms used here do not bear any special meaning.
Moreover, if they are not understood they may to some extent be neglected. It will
suffice if the reader has a general idea, vague though it may be, of the actual meaning
of the terms used. The main task of the writer in this passage is not to explain the
process of business negotiations, but to create the environment of a business
atmosphere.
In this example the terms retain their ordinary meaning though their function in the
text is not exactly terminological. It is more nearly stylistic, inasmuch as here the
terms serve the purpose of characterizing the commercial spirit of the hero of the
novel. However, they are not 'SDs because they fail to meet the main requirement of
an SD.
The following is an example where a term is used as an SD.
"What a fool Rawdon Crawley has been," Clump replied, "to go and marry a
governess. There was something about the girl too."
"Green eyes, fair skin, pretty figure, famous frontal development" Squill remarked.
(W. M. Thackeray)
The combination 'frontal development' is terminological in character (used sometimes
in anatomy). But being preceded by the word 'famous' used in the^ense indicated by
the Shorter Oxford Dictionary as "a strong expression of approval (chiefly colloquial);
excellent, capital" the whole expression assumes a specific stylistic function due to
the fact that 'frontal development' is used both in its terminological aspect and in its
logical meaning 'the breast of a woman'.
Another example of the saijie kind —terms becoming SDs:
"I should like" said young Jolyon, "to lecture on it: PROPERTY AND QUALITIES
OF A FORSYTE. This little animal, disturbed by the ridicule of his own sort, is
unaffected in his motions by the laughter of strange creatures (you and I). Hereditarily
disposed to myopia, he recognizes only the persons and habitats of his own species,
among which he passes an existence of competitive tranquility." (Galsworthy)
In this excerpt the twofold application of meanings—terminological and stylistic—is
achieved by the following means: the verb to 'lecture (on...)' and the title of the
subject 'Properties and qualities (of a Forsyte)' direct the mind to the domain of
science, i. e. they are used in a
terminological sense. But when they are followed by a word with nominal meaning
(Forsyte) they assume an additional meaning—a stylistic one. This clash of
incongruous notions arrests the mind and forces it tore-evaluate the terminological
meaning of the words which aim at supporting the pseudo-biological and medical
aspect of the message—this being contained in the words 'sort', 'creature', 'little
animal', 'species', “habitats', 'myopia'. This aspect is also backed up by such literary
words and word-combinations as 'tranquility' and 'passes an existence' which are in
full accord with the demands of a lecture.
Whenever the terms used in the belles-lettres style set the reader at odds with the text,
we can register a stylistic effect caused either by a specific use of terms in their proper
meanings or by a simultaneous realization of two meanings.
b) Poetic and Highly Literary Words
Poetic words form a rather insignificant layer of the special literary vocabulary. They
are mostly archaic or very rarely used highly literary words which aim at producing
an elevated effect. They have a marked tendency to detach themselves from the
common literary word-stock and gradually assume the quality of terms denoting
certain definite notions and calling forth poetic diction.
Poetic words and expressions are called upon to sustain the special elevated
atmosphere of poetry. This may be said to be the main function of poetic words.
V. V. Vinogradov gives the following properties of poetic words:
"...the cobweb of poetic words and images veils the reality, stylizing it according to
the established literary norms and canons. A word is torn away from its referent.
Being drawn into the system of literary styles, the words are selected and arranged in
groups of definite images, in phraseological series, which grow standardized and stale
and are becoming conventional symbols of definite phenomena.-or characters or of
definite ideas or impressions."1
Poetical tradition has kept alive such archaic words and forms as yclept (p. p. of the
old verb clipian—to call, name); quoth (p. t. of owed-an — to speak); eftsoons
(eftsona,— again, soon after), which are used even by modern ballad-mongers. Let us
note in passing that archaic words are here to be understood as units that have either
entirely gone out of use, or as words some of whose meanings have grown archaic, e.
g. hall in the following line from Byron's Childe Harold's Pilgrimage:
Deserted is my own good hall, its hearth is desolate.
It must be remembered though, that not all English poetry makes use of "poeticisms
or poetical terms", as they might be named. In the history of English literature there
were periods, as there were in many
countries, which were characterized by protests against the use of such conventional
symbols. The literary trends known as classicism arid romanticism were particularly
rich in fresh poetic terms.
Poetical words in an ordinary environment may also have a satirical function, as seen
in this passage from Byron.
But Adeline was not indifferent: for
(Now for a common-place!) beneath the snow, As a volcano holds the lava more
Within—et cetera. Shall I go on?—No, 1 hate to hunt down a tired metaphor,
So let the often-used volcano go. Poor thing: How frequently, by me and others, It
hath been stirred up till its smoke quite smothers!
("Don Juan")
The satirical function of poetic words and conventional poetic devices is well
revealed in this stanza. The 'tired metaphor' and the 'often-used volcano' are typical of
Byron's estimate of the value of conventional metaphors and stereotyped poetical
expressions.
The striving for the unusual—the characteristic feature of some kinds of poetry—is
akin to the sensational and is therefore to be found not only in poetry, but in many
other styles/
A modern English literary critic has remarked that in journalese a policeman never
goes to an appointed spot; he proceeds to it. The* picturesque reporter seldom talks of
a horse, it is a steed or a charger. The sky is the welkin', the valley л§ the vale; fire is
the devouring element...
Poetical words and word-combinations can be likened to terms in that they do not
easily yield to polysemy. They are said to evoke emotive meanings (see p. 66). They
colour the utterance with a certain air of loftiness, but generally fail to produce a
genuine feeling of delight: they are too hackneyed for the purpose^too stale. And that
is the reason that the excessive u?e ofvpoeticisms at present calls forth protest and
derision towards those who favour this conventional device.
Such protests have had a long history. As far back as the 16th century Shakespeare in
a number of lines voiced his attitude toward poeticisms, considering them as means to
embellish poetry. Here is one of tne sonnets • in which he condemns the use of such
words.
So is it not with me^as with that Muse Stirr'd by a painted beauty to his verse, Who
heaven itself for ^ornament doth use And every fair with his fair doth rehearse,
Making a couplement of proud compare, With sun and moon, with earth and sea's rich
gems, With April's first-born flowers, and all things rare That heaven's air in this huge
rondure hems. O, let me, true in love, but truly write, And then believe me, my love is
as fair As any mother's child, though not so bright 80
As those gold candles fix'd in heaven's air: Let them say more that like of hearsay
well; I will not praise that purpose not to sell.
(Sonnet XXI)
It is remarkable how Shakespeare though avoiding poetic words proper uses highly
elevated vocabulary in the first part of the sonnet (the octave), such as 'heaven's air',
'rehearse', 'couplement', 'compare' (noun), 'rondure', 'hems', in contrast to the very
common vocabulary of the second part (the sestette).
The very secret of a truely poetic quality of a word does not lie in conventionality of
usage. On the contrary, a poeticism through constant repetition gradually becomes
hackneyed. Like anything that lacks freshness it fails to evoke a genuinely aesthetic
effect and eventually call forth protest on the part of those who are sensitive to real
beauty.
As far back as in 1800 Wordsworth raised the question of the conventional use of
words and phrases, which to his mind should be avoided. There was (and still
persists) a nption called "poetic diction" which still means the collection of epithets,
periphrases, archaisms, etc., which were common property to most poets of the 18th
century.
However, the term has now acquired a broader meaning. Thus Owen Barfield says:
"When words are selected and arranged in such a way that their meaning either
arouses or is obviously intended to arouse aesthetic imagination, the result may be
described as poetic diction."1
Poetic diction in the former meaning has had a long lineage. Aristotle in his "Poetics"
writes the following:
"The perfection of Diction is for it to be at once clear, and not mean. The clearest
indeed is that made up of the ordinary words for things, but it is mean... the diction
becomes distinguished and non-prosaic by the use of unfamiliar terms, i. e. strange
words, metaphors, lengthened forms and everything that deviates from the ordinary
modes of speech... A certain admixture, accordingly, of unfamiliar terms is necessary.
These, the strange words, the metaphor, the ornamental equivalent, etc. will save the
language from seeming mean and prosaic, while the ordinary words in it will secure
the requisite clearness."2
A good illustration -of the use of poetic words the bulk of which are archaic is the
following stanza from Byron's Childe Harold's Pilgrimage
Whilome (at some past time) in Albion's isle (the oldest name of the island of Britain)
there dwelt (lived) a youth, "
' Who ne (not) in virtue's ways did take delight: : But spent his days in riot (wasteful
living) most uncouth (unusual,
strange) And vex'd (disturbed) with mirth (fun) the drowsy ear of Night.
Ah me\ (interjection expressing regret, sorrow) In sooth (truely) he
was a shameless wight (a human being) Sore (severely, harshly) given to revel (noisy
festivity) and ungodly
(wicked) glee (entertainment); Few earthly things found favour in his sight Save
concubines (prostitutes) and carnal (not spiritual) companie, And flaunting
(impudent) wassailers (drunkards; revellers) of high
and low degree.
The use of poetic words does not as a rule create the atmosphere of poetry in the true
sense; it is a substitute for real art.
Poetic words are not freely built in contrast to neutral, colloquial and common literary
words, or terms. The commonest means is by compounding, e. g. * young-eyed', *
rosy-fingered'.
Some writers make abundant use of this word-building means. Thus Arthur Hailey in
his novel "In High Places" has 'serious-faced', 'high-ceilinged', * beige-carpeted', 'tall-
backed', * horn-rimmed' in almost close proximity. There is, however, one means of
creating new poetic words still recognized as productive even in present-day English,
viz. the use of a contracted form of a word instead of the full one, e. g. * drear' instead
of dreary, 'scant' (—scanty). Sometimes the reverse process leads to the birth of a
poeticism, e. g. * vasty' (=vast. * The vasty deep', i. e. the ocean); 'steepy' (=steep),
'paly' (=pale).
These two conventional devices are called forth by the requirements of the metre of
the poem, to add or remove a syllable, and are generally avoided by modern English
poets.
Poetical words and set expressions make the utterance understandable only to a
limited number of readers. It is mainly due to poeticisms that poetical language is
sometimes called poetical jargon.
In modern English -poetry there is a strong tendency to use words in strange
conTbinations. It manifests itself in the coinage of new words and, most of all, in
combining old and familiar words in a way that hinders understanding and forces the
reader to stop and try to decipher the message so encoded.
The following may serve as examples:
'The sound of shape'; 'night-long eyes'; 'to utter ponds of dream'; 'wings of because';
'tareap one's same'; 'goldenly whole, prodigiously keen star whom she—and4 he—,
—like ifs of am perceive...' (E. E. Cum-mings).
All these combinations are considered ungrammatical inasmuch as they .violate the
rules of encoding a message. But in search of new modes of expression modern poets,
particularly those who may be called "modernists", have a strong bias for all kinds of
innovation. They experiment with language means and are ready to approve of any
deviation from the normal. So also are literary critics belonging to what is called the
avant-garde movement in art, the essence of which is the use of unorthodox and
experimental methods. These usually lead both the poet and the critic to extremes,
examples of which are given above.
c) Archaic, Obsolescent and Obsolete Words
The word-stock of a language is in an increasing state of change. Words change their
meaning and sometimes drop out of the language altogether. New words spring up
and replace the old ones. Some words stay in the language a very long time and do
not lose their faculty of gaining new meanings and becoming richer and richer
polysemantically. Other words live but a short time and are like bubbles on the
surface of water — they disappear leaving no trace of their existence.
In registering these processes the role of dictionaries can hardly be over-estimated.
Dictionaries serve to retain this or that word in a language either as a relic of ancient
times, where it lived and circulated, or as a still living unit of the system, though it
may have lost some of its meanings. They may also preserve certain nonce-creations
which were never intended for general use.
In every period in the development of a literary language one can find words which
will show more or less apparent changes in their meaning or usage, from full vigour,
through a moribund state, to death, i. e. complete disappearance of the unit from the
language.
We shall distinguish three stages in the aging process of words:
The beginning of the aging process when the word becomes rarely used. Such words
are called obsolescent, i.e. they are in the stage of gradually passing out of general
use. To this category first of all belong morphological forms .belonging to the earlier
stages in the development of the language. In the English language these are the
pronouns thou and its forms thee, thy and thine; the corresponding verbal ending -est
and the verb-forms art, wilt (thou makest, thou wilt); the ending -(e)th instead of -(e)s
(he maketh) and the pronoun ye.
To the category of obsolescent words belong many French borrowings which have
been kept in the literary language as a means of preserving the spirit of earlier periods,
e. g. a pallet (=a straw mattress); a palfrey (=a small horse); garniture (^furniture); to
emplume (^to adorn with feathers or plumes). - „
The second group of archaic words are those that have already gone completely out of
use but are still recognized by the English-speaking community: e. g. methinks (=it
seems to me); nay (=no). These words are called obsolete.
The third group, which may be called archaic proper, are words which are no longer
recognizable in modern English, words that were in use in Old English and which
have either dropped out of the language entirely or have changed in their appearance
so much that they have become unrecognizable, e. g. troth (^faith); a losel (=a
worthless, lazy fellow).
It will be noted that on the diagram (p. 71) the small circles denoting archaic and
poetic words overlap and both extend beyond the large circle "special literary
vocabulary". This indicates that some of the words in these layers do not belong to the
present-day English vocabulary.
The border lines between the groups are not distinct. In fact they interpenetrate. It is
specially difficult to distinguish between obsolete
and obsolescent words. But the difference is important when we come to deal with the
stylistic aspect of an utterance in which the given word serves a certain stylistic
purpose. Obsolete and obsolescent words have separate functions, as we shall point
out later.
There is still another class of words which is erroneously classed as archaic, viz.
historical words. By-gone periods in the life of any society are marked by historical
events, and by institutions, customs, material objects, etc. which are no longer in use,
for example: Thane, yeoman, goblet, baldric, mace. Words of this type never
disappear from the language. They are historical terms and remain as terms referring
to definite stages in the development of society and cannot therefore be dispensed
with, though the things and phenomena to which they refer have long -passed into
oblivion. Historical words have no synonyms, whereas archaic words have been
replaced by modern synonyms.
Archaic words are primarily and predominantly used in the creation of a realistic
background to historical novels. It must be pointed out, however, that the use of
historical words (terms) in a passage written in scientific style, say, in an essay on the
history of the Danish invasion, will bear no stylistic function at all. But the same
terms when used in historical novels assume a different stylistic value. They carry, as
it ' were, a special volume of information adding to the logical aspect of the
communication.
This, the main function of archaisms, finds different interpretation in different novels
by different writers. Some writers overdo things in this respect, the result being that
the reader finds all kinds of obstacles in his way. .Others under-estimate the necessity
of introducing obsolete or obsolescent elements into their narration and thus fail to
convey what is called "local colour".
In his "Letter to the Young Writer" A. N. Tolstoi states that the heroes of historical
novels must think and speak in the way the time they live in, forces them to. If Stepan
Razin, he maintains, were to speak of the initial accumulation of capital,vthe reader
would throw the book under the table and he would be right. But the writer must
know all about the initial accumulation of capital and view events from this particular
position.
On the whole Tolstoi's idea does not call for criticism. But the way it is worded may
lead to .the misconception that heroes of historical novels should speak the language
of the period they live in. If those heroes really spoke the language of .the time they
lived in, the reader would undoubtedly throw the book under the table because he
would be unable to-understand it.
As a matter of fact the heroes of historical novels speak the language of the period the
writer and the reader live in, and the skill of the writer is required to colour the
language with such obsolete or obsolescent elements as most naturally interweave
with the texture of the modern literary language. These elements must not be archaic
in the narrow sense. They must be recognizable to the native reader and not hinder his
understanding of the communication.
The difficulty in handling archaic words and phrases and the subtlety 84
required was acutely felt by A. S. Pushkin. In his article "Juri Milos-
lavski, or the Russian of 1612," Pushkin writes:
"Walter Scott carried along with him a crowd of imitators. But how far they are from
the Scottish charmer! Like Agrippa's pupil, they summoned the demon of the Past but
they, could not handle him and fell victims of their own imprudence."
Walter Scott was indeed an inimitable master in the creation of an historical
atmosphere. He used the stylistic means that create this atmosphere with such skill
and discrimination, that the reader is scarcely aware that the heroes of the novels
speak his language and riot that of iheir own epoch. Walter Scott himself states the
principles which he considers basic for the purpose: the writer's language must not be
out of date and therefore incomprehensible, but words and phrases of modern coinage
should not be used.
"It is one thing to use the language to express feelings common both to us and to our
forefathers," says Scott, "but it is another thing to impose upon them the emotions and
speech characteristics of their descendants."
In accordance with these principles Walter Scott never photographs the language of
earlier periods; he sparingly introduces into the texture of his language a few words
and expressions more or less obsolescent in character, and this is enough to convey
the desired effect without unduly interlarding present-day English with outdated
elements of speech. Therefore we can find such words as me thinks, haply, nay,
travail, repast and the like in great number and, of course, a multiplicity of historical
terms. But you will hardly find a true archaism of the nature indicated in our
classification as archaisms proper.
Besides the function just mentioned, archaic words and phrases ha\*e other functions
found in other styles. They are, first of all, frequently to be found in the style of
official documents. In business letters, in legal language, in all kinds of statutes, in
diplomatic do.cuments and in all kinds of legal documents one can find obsolescent
words which would long ago have become obsolete if it were not for the preserving
power of the special use within the above-mentioned spheres of communication. It is
the same with archaic and obsolete words in poetry. As has already been pointed out,
they are employed in the poetic style as special terms and hence prevented from
dropping completely out of the language.
Among the obsolescent elements of the English vocabulary preserved within the style
of official documents, the following may be mentioned: -aforesaid, hereby, therewith,
hereinafter named.
The function ojt archaic words and constructions in official documents is
terminological in character. They are used here because they help to maintain that
exactness of expression so necessary in this style.
Archaic words and particularly archaic forms of words are sometimes used for
satirical purposes. This is achieved through what is called Anticlimax (see p. 221).
The situation in which the archaism is used is not appropriate to the context. There
appears a sort of discrepancy bet-
ween the words actually used and the ordinary situation which excludes the
possibility of such a usage. The low predictability of an archaism when it appears in
ordinary speech produces the necessary satirical effect.
Here is an example of such a use of an archaic form. In Shaw's play "How He Lied to
Her Husband" a youth of eighteen, speaking of his feelings towards a "female of
thirty-seven" expresses himself in a language which is not in conformity with the
situation. His words are:
"Perfect love casteth off Tear."
Archaic words, word-forms and word-combinations are also used to create an
elevated effect. Language is specially moulded to suit a solemn occasion: all kinds of
stylistic devices are used, and among them is the use of archaisms.
Some'archaic words due to their inner qualities (sound-texture, nuances of meaning,
morphological peculiarities, combinatory power) may be revived in a given period of
the development of the English language. This re-establishing in the vocabulary,
however, is generally confined to poetry and highly elevated discourse. The word
albeit (although)1 may serve as an example.
The stylistic significance of archaic words in historical novels and in other works of
fiction (emotive literature—belles-lettres) is different. In historical novels, as has been
pbinted out, they maintain "local colour", i.e. they perform the function of creating the
atmosphere of the past. The reader is, as it were, transplanted into another epoch and
therefore perceives the use of archaic words as a natural mode of communication.
Not so when archaic words are encountered in a depiction of events of present-day
life. Here archaisms assume the function of an SD proper. They^re perceived in a
twofold function, the typical quality of an SD, viz. diachronically and synchronically.
The abundance of archaic words playing the role of ppeticisms in the stanza of
"Childe Harold" quoted on p. 81 sets the reader on guard as to the meaning of the
device. On the one hand, the word 'whilome' triggers off the signal of something that
took place in times remote, and therefore calls forth the necessity of using archaic
words to create local colour. On the other hand, the crowding of such obsolete units of
the vocabulary may be interpreted as a parody on the "domain of the few", whose
adherents considered that real poetry should avoi^ using "mean" words. At any rate,
the use of archaic words here is a stylistic device which willy-nilly requires decoding,
a process which inevitably calls jprth the double function of the units.
One must be well aware of the subtleties in the usage of archaisms. In American
English many words and forms of words which are obsolete or obsolescent in British
English have survived as admissible in literary usage.
A. C. Baugh, a historian of the English language, points out that in some parts of
America one may hear "there's a new barn a-building down the road". The form 'a-
building' is obsolete, the present form being
Compare the Russian conjunction ибо.
building (There is a house building — A house is being built). This form has
undergone the following changes: on building > a-building > building-, consequently,
'a-building' will sound obsolete in England but will be considered dialectal in the
United States. This predetermines the stylistic meaning when used in American or
British texts.
The extension of such forms to the passive: 'A house is being built' took place near the
very end of the 18th century.
Stylistic functions of archaic words are based on the temporal perception of events
described. Even when used in the terminological aspect, as for instance in law,
archaic words will mark the utterance as being connected with something remote and
the reader gets the impression that he is faced with a time-honoured tradition.
d) Barbarisms and Foreignisms
In the vocabulary of the English language there is a considerable layer of words called
barbarisms. These are words of foreign origin which have not entirely been
assimilated into the English language. They bear the appearance of a'borrowing and
are felt as something alien to the native tongue. The role foreign borrowings played in
the development of the English literary language is well known, and the great
majority of these borrowed words now form part of the rank and file of the English
vocabulary. It is the science of linguistics, in particular its branch etymology, that
reveals the foreign nature of this or that word. But most of what were formerly foreign
borrowings are now, from a purely stylistic position, not regarded as foreign. But still
there are some words which retain their foreign appearance to a greater or lesser
degree. These words, which are called barbarisms, are, like archaisms*, also
considered to be on the outskirts of the literary language. *
Most of them have corresponding English synonyms; e. g. chic (=stylish); bon mot
(=a clever witty saying); en passant (— in passing); Ы infinitum (= to infinity) and
many other words and phrases.
It is very important for purely stylistic purposes to distinguish between barbarisms
and foreign words proper. Barbarisms are words which have already become facts of
the English language. They are, as it were, part and parcel of the English word-stock,
though they remain on the outskirts of the literary vocabulary. Foreign words, though
used for certain stylistic purposes, do not belong to the English vocabulary. They are
not registered by English dictionaries, except in a kind of addenda which gives the
meanings of the foreign words most frequently used in literary English. Barbarisms
are generally given in the body of the dictionary.
In printed works foreign words and phrases are generally italicized to indicate their
alien nature or their stylistic value. Barbarisms, on the contrary, are not made
conspicuous in the text unless they bear a special bad of stylistic information.
There are foreign words in the English vocabulary which fulfil a terminological
function. Therefore, though they still retain their
foreign appearance, they should not be regarded as barbarisms. Such words as ukase,
udarnik, soviet, kolkhoz and the like denote certain concepts which reflect an
objective reality not familiar to English-speaking communities. There are no names
for them in English and so they have to be explained. New concepts of this type are
generally given the names they have in the language of the people whose reality they
reflect.
Further, such words as solo, tenor, concerto, blitzkrieg (the blitz), luftwaffe and the
like should also be distinguished from barbarisms. They are different not only in their
functions but in their nature as well; They are terms. Terminological borrowings have
no synonyms; barbarisms, on the contrary, may have almost exact synonyms.
It is evident that barbarisms are a historical category. Many foreign words and phrases
which were once just foreign words used in literary English to express a concept non-
existent in English reality, have little by little entered the class of words named
barbarisms and many of these barbarisms have gradually lost their foreign
peculiarities, become more or less naturalized and have merged with the native
English stock of words. Conscious, retrograde, spurious and strenuous are words in
Ben Jonson's play "The Poetaster" which were made fun of in the author's time as
unnecessary borrowings from the French. With the passing of time they have become
common English literary words. They no longer raise objections on the part of
English purists. The same can be said of the words .scientific, methodical, penetrate,
function, figurative, obscure, and many others, which were once barbarisms, but
which are now lawful members of the common literary word-stock of the language.
Both foreign words and barbarisms are widely used in various styles of language with
various aims, aims which predetermine their typical functions.
One of these functions is to supply local colour. In order to depict local conditions of
life,- concrete facts and events, customs and habits, special carets taken to introduce
into the passage such language elements as will reflect the environment. In this
respect a most conspicuous role is played by the language chosen. In "Vanity Fair"
Thackeray takes the reader to a small German town where a boy with a remarkable
appetite is made the focus of attention. By introducing several German words into his
narrative, the author gives an indirect description of the peculiarities of the German
щепи and the environment in general.
"The little .boy, too, we observed, had a famous appetite, and consumed schinken,
an&braten, and kartoffeln, and cranberry jam... with a gallantry that did honour to his
nation."
The German words are italicized to show their alien nature and at the same time their
stylistic function in the passage. These words have not become facts of the English
language and need special decoding to be understood by the rank and file English-
speaking reader.
In this connection mention might be made of a stylistic device often used by writers
whose knowledge of the language and customs of the country they depict bursts out
from the texture of the narrative, they
use foreign words and phrases and sometimes whole sentences quite regard* less of
the fact that these may not be understood by the reader. However, one suspects that
the words are not intended to be understood exactly. All that is required of the reader
is that he should be aware that the words used are foreign and mean something, in the
above case connected with food. In the above passage the association of food is
maintained throughout by the use of the words 'appetite', 'consumed' and the English
'cranberry jam'. The context therefore leads the reader to understand that schinken,
braien and kartoffeln are words denoting some kind of food, but exactly what kind he
will learn when he travels in Germany.
The function of the foreign words used in the context may be considered to provide
local colour as a background to the narrative. In passages of other kinds units of
speech may be used which will arouse only a vague conception in the mind of the
reader. The significance of such units, however, is not communicative — the author
does not wish them to convey any clear-cut idea — but to serve in making the main
idea stand out more conspicuously.
This device may be likened to one used in painting by representatives of the Dutch
school who made their background almost indistinguishable in order that the
foreground elements might stand out distinctly and colourfully.
An example which is even more characteristic of the use of the local colour function
of foreign words is the following stanza from Byron's "Don Juan":
... more than poet's pen
Can point,— "Cos/ viaggino: ЩссЫГ
(Excuse a foreign slip-slop now and then,
If but to show I've travell'd: and what's travel
Unless it teaches one to quote and cavil?)
The poet himself calls the foreign words he has used 'slip-slop', i. e. twaddle,
something nonsensical.
Another function of barbarisms and foreign words is to build up the stylistic device of
non-personal direct speech or represented speech (see p. 236). The use of a word, or a
phrase, or a sentence in the reported speech of a local inhabitant helps to reproduce
his actual words, manner of speech and the environment as well. Thus in James
Aldridge's "The Sea -Eagle" — "And the Cretans were very willing to feed and hide
the Inglisi"—, the last word is intended to reproduce the actual speech of the local
people by introducing a word actually spt)ken by them, a word which is very easily
understood because of the root.
Generally such words are first introduced in the direct speech of a character and then
appear in the author's narrative as an element of reported speech. Thus in the novel
"The Sea Eagle" the word 'benzina' (=motor boat) is first mentioned in the direct
speech of a Cretan:
"It was a warship that sent out its benzina to- catch us arid look for guns."
Later the author uses the same word but already in reported speech:
"He heard too the noise of a benzina engine starting."
Barbarisms and foreign words are used in various styles of language, but are most
often to be found in the style of belles-lettres and the publi-cistic style. In the belles-
lettres style, however, foreignisms are sometimes used not only as separate units
incorporated in the English narrative. The author makes his character actually speak a
foreign language, by putting a string of foreign words into his mouth, words which to
many readers may be quite unfamiliar. These phrases or whole sentences are
sometimes translated by the writer in a foot-note or by explaining the foreign
utterance in English in the text. But this is seldom done.
Here is an example of the use of French by John Galsworthy:
"Revelation was alighting like a bird in his heart, singing: "Elle est ton revel Elle est
ton revel" ("In Chancery")
No translation is given, no interpretation. But something else must be pointed out
here. Foreign words and phrases may sometimes be used to exalt the expression of the
idea, to elevate the language. This is in some respect akin to the function of elevation
mentioned in the chapter on archaisms. Words which we do not quite understand
sometimes have a peculiar charm. This magic quality in words, a quality not easily
grasped, has long been observed and made use of in various kinds of utterances,
particularly in poetry and folklore.
But the introduction of foreign speech into the texture of the English language hinders
understanding and if constantly used becomes irritating. It may be likened, in some
respect, to jargon. Soames Forsyte, for example, calls it exactly that.
"Epatantt" he heard one say. "Jargon!" growled Soames to himself.
The introduction'of actual foreign words in an utterance is not, to our mind, a special
stylistic device, inasmuch as it is not a conscious and intentional literary use of
"the'facts of the English language. However, foreign words, being alien to the texture
of the language in which the work is written, always arrest the attention of the reader
and therefore have a definite stylistic^function. Sometimes the skilful use of one or
two foreign wordsvwill be sufficient to create the impression of an utterance made in
a foreign language. Thus in the following example:
"Deutsche Soldaten ~^a little while agd, you received a sample of American
strength'." (Stefan Heym, "The Crusaders")
The two words 'Deutsche Soldaten' are sufficient to create the impression that the
actual speech was made in German, as in real life it would have been.
The same effect is sometimes achieved by the slight distortion of an English word, or
a distortion of English grammar in such a way that the morphological aspect of the
distortion will bear a resemblance to the morphology of the foreign tongue, for
example:
"He look at Miss Forsyte so funny sometimes. I tell him all my story; he so-
sympatisch." (Galsworthy)
Barbarisms have still another function when used in the belles-lettres style. We may
call it an "exactifying" function. Words of for-seign origin generally have a more or
less monosemantic value. In other words, they do not tend to develop new meanings.
The English So long, for example, due to its conventional usage has lost its primary
meaning. It has become a formal phrase of parting. Not so with the French "Au-
revoir." When used in English as a formal sign of parting it will either carry the exact
meaning of the words it is composed of, viz. 'See you again soon', or have another
stylistic function. Here is an example:
"She had said *Au revoirV Not good-bye!" (Galsworthy)
The formal and conventional salutation at parting has become a meaningful sentence
set against another formal salutation at parting which, in its turn, is revived by the
process to its former significance of "God be with you," i. e. a salutation used when
parting for some time.
In publicistic style the use of barbarisms and foreign words is mainly confined to
colouring the passage on the problem in question with & touch of authority. A person
who uses so many foreign words and phrases is obviously a very educated person, the
reader thinks, and therefore a "man who knows." Here are some examples of the use
of barbarisms in the publicistic style:
"Yet en passant I would like to ask here (and answer) what did Rockefeller think of
Labour..." (Dreiser, "Essays and Articles")
"Civilization" — as they knew it — still depended upon making profits ad infinitum"
(Ibid.)
We may remark in passing that Dreiser was particularly fond of using barbarisms not
only in his essays and articles but in his novels and stories as well. And this brings us
to another question. Is the use of barbarisms and foreign words a matter of individual
preference of expression, a certain idiosyncrasy of this or that writer? Or is there a
definite norm regulating the usage of this means of expression in different styles of
speech? The reader is invited to make his own observations and inferences on the
matter.
Barbarisms assume the significance of a stylistic device if they display a kind of
interaction between different meanings, or functions, or aspects. When a word which
we consider a barbarism is used so as to evoke a twofold application we are
confronted with an SD.
In the example given above — "She had said 'au revoirV Not goodbye!" the 'au revoir'
will be understood by the reader because of its frequent use in some circles of English
society. However, it is to be understood literally here, i. e. 'So long' or 'until we see
each other again.' The twofold perception secures the desired effect. Set against the
English 'Good-bye' which is generally used when, people part for an
indefinite time, the barbarism loses its formal character and re-establishes its
etymological meaning. Consequently, here again we see the clearly cut twofold
application of the language unit, the indispensable requirement for a stylistic device.
e) Literary Coinages (Including Nonce-Words)
There is a term in linguistics which by its very nature is ambiguous and that is the
term neologism. In dictionaries it is generally defined as * a new word or a new
meaning for an established word.! Everything in this definition is vague. How long
should words or their meanings be regarded as new? Which words of those that
appear as new in the language, say during the life-time of one generation, can be
regarded as established? It is suggestive that the latest editions of certain dictionaries
avoid the use of the stylistic notation "neologism" apparently because of its
ambiguous character. If a word is fixed in a dictionary and provided that the
dictionary is reliable, it ceases to be a neologism. If a new meaning is recognized as
an element in the semantic structure of a lexical unit, it ceases to be new. However, if
we wish to-divide the word-stock of a language into chronological periods, we can
conventionally mark off a period which might be called new.
Every period in the development of a language produces an елог-mous number of
new words or new meanings of established words. Most of them do not live long.
They are not meant to live long. They are, as it were, coined for use at the moment of
speech, and therefore possess a peculiar property —that of temporariness. The given
word or meaning holds only in the given context and is meant only To "serve the
occasion."
However, such is the power of the written language that a word or a meaning used
only to serve the occasion, when once fixed in writing, may become part and. parcel
of the* general vocabulary irrespective of the quality of the word. That's why the
introduction of new words by men-of-letters is pregnant with unforeseen
consequences: their new coinages may replace old words and become established in
the language as synonyms and later as substitutes for the old words.
In this connection it might be noted that such words as субъект, объект and their
derivatives as well as тип, прогресс, пролетариат and others introduced into the
literary Russian language by V. G. Belinsky have become legitimate4 Russian words
firmly established in the word-stock of the Russian language and are no longer felt to
be alien to the literary language as they were in4he nineteenth century.
The coining of new words generally arises first of all with the need to designate new
concepts resulting from the development of science and also with the need to express
nuances of meaning called forth by a deeper understanding of the nature of the
phenomenon in question. It may also be the result of a search for a more economical,
brief and compact form of utterance which proves to be a more expressive means of
communicating the idea.
The first type of newly coined words, i. e. those which designate newborn concepts,
may be named terminological coinages. The secondtype, I. e. words coined because
their creators seek expressive utterance may be named stylisticcoinages.
New words are mainly coined according to the productive models for word-building
in the given language. But the new words of the literary-bookish type we are dealing
with in this chapter may sometimes be built with the help of affixes and by other
means which have gone out of use or which are in the process of dying out. In this
case the stylistic effect produced by the means of word-building chosen becomes
more apparent, and the stylistic function of the device can be felt more acutely.
It often happens, however, that the sensitive reader finds a new . application of an
already existing word almost revolting. Purists of all shades rise up in protest against
what they call the highly objectionable and illegitimate usage of the word. But being
once successfully used, it may be repeated by other writers and so may remain in the
language and, moreover, may influence the further history of the semantic
development of the word. V. V. Vinogradov justly remarks:
"...The turning point in the semantic history of many words is the new, vividly
expressive, figurative, individual use of them. This new and genuinely artistic
application of a word, if it is in conformity with the general tendencies of the
semantic development of the language, not infrequently predetermines the further
semantic development of the word."1
Among new coinages of a literary-bookish type must be mentioned a considerable
layer of words appearing in the publicistic style, mainly in newspaper articles and
magazines and also in the newspaper style— mostly in newspaper headlines. To these
belongs the word Blimp — a name coined by Low, the well-known English
cartoonist. The name was coined to designate an English colonel famous for his
conceit, brutality, 'ultra-conservatism. This word gave birth to a derivative, viz.
Blimpish. Other examples are 'backlash' (in 'backlash policy') and its opposite
'frontlash'.
Literary critics, men-of-letters and linguists, have manifested different attitudes
towards new coinages both literary and colloquial. Ever since the 16th century,
literature has shown example after example of the losing battle of the purists whose
strongest objection to the new words was on the score of their obscurity. A. A. Baugh
points out that the great exponent of this view was Thomas Wilson. His "Arteof
Rhetor -ique" (1533) was several times reprinted and was used by Shakespeare.
Of course, there are different degrees of purism. In other words, the efforts of scholars
to preserve the purity of their language should not always be regarded*as
conservative. They do not looJ< upon any and every change with suspicion or regard
an innovation as invariably a corruption of the language.
Most of the new words of the 16th century as well as those of the 17th were foreign
borrowings from Latin, Greek and continental French. The words were introduced
into the English language and used in the
same sense and with almost the same pronunciation as in the language they were
borrowed from. But most of those which have remained in the language underwent
changes due to the process of assimilation and were finally "naturalized." This
process is slow. It sometimes takes centuries to make a word borrowed from another
language sound quite English. The tempo of assimilation is different with different
borrowings, depending in particular on the language the word is borrowed from.
Borrowings from the French language are easily and quickly assimilated due to long-
established tradition. The process of assimilation plays a rather important role in the
stylistic evaluation of a lexical unit. The greater and the deeper the process of
assimilation, the more general and common the word becomes, the less bookish it
sounds, and the greater the probability of its becoming a member of the neutral layer
of
words.
Throughout the history of the English literary language, scholars have expressed their
opposition to three main lines of innovation in the vocabulary: firstly, to borrowings
which they considered objectionable because of their irregularity; secondly, to the
revival of archaic words; and thirdly, because the process of creation of new
words.was too rapid for the literary language to assimilate. The opposition to one or
other of these lines of innovation increased in violence at different stages in the
development of the language, and switched from one to another in accordance with
the general laws of development in the given
period.
, We shall refer the reader to books on the history of the English language for a more
detailed analysis of the attitude of purists of different shades to innovations. Our task
here is to trace the literary, bookish character of coinages and to show which of their
features have contributed to their stylistic labels. Some words have indeed passed
from the literary-bookish layer of the vocabulary where they first appeared, into the
stratum of common literary words and then into the neutral stratum. Others have
remained within the literary-bookish group of words and have never shown any
tendency to move downwards in the scale.
This fact is apparently due to the linguistic background of the new words and also to
the demand/or a new unit to express nuances of meaning.
In our times the same tendency to coin new words is to be observed in England and
particularly in the United States of America. The literary language is literally
inundated with all kinds of new words and a considerable body of protest has arisen
against them. It is enough to look through some of the articles of the New York Times
on the subject to see what direction the protest against innovations takes.
Like earlier periods in the development of the English language, modern times are
characterized by a vigorous protest against the unrestrained influx of new coinages,
whether they have been built in accordance with the norms of the language, or
whether they are of foreign origin.
"The danger is not that the reading public would desert good books, but that abuse of
the written language may ruin books.
"As for words, we are never at a loss; if they do not exist, we invent them. We carry
out purposeful projects in a meaningful manner in order to achieve insightful
experiences.
"We diarize, we earlirize; any day we may begin to futurize. We also itinerize,
reliablize; and we not only decontaminate and dehumidifyvbut we debureaucratize
and we deinsectize. We are, in addition, discovering how good and pleasant it is to
fellowship with one another.
"I can only say, Met us finalize all this nonsense'."
The writer of the article then proceeds to give an explanation of the reasons for such
unrestrained coinage. He states that some of the writers "...are not ashamed of writing
badly but rather proud of writing at all and—with a certain vanity—are attracted by
gorgeous words which give to their slender thoughts an appearance of power."
Perhaps the writer of this article is not far from the truth when he ascribes literary
coinage to the desire to make utterances more pompous and sensational. It is
suggestive that the majority of such coinages are found in newspaper and magazine
articles and, like the articles themselves, live but a short time. As their effect is
transitory, it must be instantaneous. If a newly-coined word can serve the demand of
the moment, what does it matter to the writer whether it is a necessary word or not?
The freshness of the creation is its primary and indispensable quality.
The fate of literary coinages, unlike colloquial ones, mainly depends on the number of
rival synonyms already existing in the vocabulary of the language. It also depends on
the shade of meaning the new coinage may convey to the mind of the reader. If a new
word is approved of by native speakers and becomes widely used, it ceases to be a
new word and becomes part and parcel of the general vocabulary in spite of the
objections of men-of-letters and other lawgivers of the language, whoever they may
be.
Many coinages disappear entirely from the language, leaving no mark of their even
brief existence. Other literary neologisms leave traces in the vocabulary because they
are fixed in the literature of their time. In other words, new literary-bookish coinages
will always leave traces in the language, inasmuch as they appear in writing. This is
not the case with colloquial coinages. These, as we shall see later, are spontaneous,
and due to their linguistic nature, cannot be fixed unless special care is taken by
specialists to preserve them.
Most of the literary-bookish coinages are built by means of affixation and word
compounding. This is but natural; new words built in this manner will be immediately
perceived because of their unexpectedness. Unexpectedness in the use of words is the
natural device of those writers who seek to achieve the sensational. It is interesting to
note in passing that conversion, which has become one of the most productive word-
build-
ing devices of the English language and which is more and more widely used to form
new words in all parts of speech, is less effective in producing the sensational effect
sought by literary coinage than is the case with other means of word-building.
Conversion has become organic in the .English language.
Semantic word-building, that is, giving an old word a new meaning, is rarely
employed by writers who coin new words for journalistic purposes. It is too slow and
imperceptible in its growth to produce any kind of sensational effect.
Conversion, derivation and change of meaning may be registered as means by which
literary-bookish coinages are formed. These three means of word-building are mostly
used to coin new terms in which new meanings are imposed on old words. Among
coinages of this kind the word accessories may be mentioned. It has now become an
important word in the vocabulary of feminine fashion. It means gloves, shoes and
handbag, though jewellery and other ornaments are sometimes included. Mary
Reifer's '"Dictionary of New Words" notes a verb to accessorize meaning 4to provide
with dress accessories, such as handbag, gloves, shoes, etc/. These items are supposed
to form a matching or harmonious whole.
The new meaning co-exists with the old ones. In other words, new meanings imposed
on old words form one system in which old and new meanings are ranged in a
dictionary according to their rate of frequency or to some other underlying principle.
But there are cases when new meanings imposed oh old words drive out old
meanings. In this case we register a gradual change in the meaning of the word which
may not incorporate the old one. In most cases, however, the old meaning is hardly
felt; it is generally forgotten and can only be re-established by etymological analysis.
Thus the word admire,, which, as in Latin, first meant 'to feel or express surprise or
astonishment', has today lost its primary meaning and now has acquired a new one
which, however, still contains a shade of the old, uiz/'td regard with wonder and
approval, esteem or affection, to delight in'.
The process of elimination of the old meaning, as is seen from this example, is slow
and smooth. Hardly ever can we register a sudden switch from one meaning to
another: there is always a gradual transition, and not infrequently J;he two competing
meanings co-exist, manifesting in this co-existence ^an almost imperceptible internal
struggle which ends in the complete elimination of one of them.
Almost half of the words in'ihe 18th century "English Dictionary" compiled by
Samuel Johnson may serve as examples of change of meaning. A word or two taken
at random will confirm the statement just made.
The word to fascinate meant 'to bewitch'; 'to enchant'; 'to influence in some wicked
and secret manner'. The word available is explained in Johnson's Dictionary as "1.
Profitable; Advantageous. 2. Powerful, in force."
True, in some respects Johnson's Dictionary cannot be regarded as a reliable source of
information: his attitude towards colloquial idiom
is well known. It was not only aversion—it was a manifestation of his theoretical
viewpoint. James Boswell in his "Life of Johnson" says that the compiler of the
dictionary was at all times jealous of infractions upon the genuine English language,
and prompt to repress what he called colloquial barbarisms; such as pledging myself
for 'undertaking', line for 'department' or Branch', as the civil line, the-banking line.
He was particularly indignant against the almost universal use of the word idea in the
sense of 'notion' or 'opinion', when it is clear that idea, being derived from the Greek
word meaning 'to see', can t>nly signify something of which an image can be formed
in the mind. We may have, he says, an idea or image of a mountain, a tree, a building;
but we cannot surely have an idea or image of an argument or proposition.
As has been pointed out, word-building by means of affixation is still predominant in
coining new words. Examples are: arbiter—'a spacecraft designed to orbit a celestial
body'; lander—'a spacecraft designed to land on such a body'; missileer—'a person
skilled in missilery or in the launching and control of missiles'; fruitologist and
wreckologist which were used in a letter to the editor of The times from a person
living in Australia. Another monster of the ink-horn type is the word overdichotomize
—'to split something into too many parts', which is commented upon in an article in
New York Times Magazine:
"It is, alas, too much to expect that this fine flower of language, a veritable hot-house
specimen—combining as it does a vogue word with a vogue suffix—will long
survive."*
The literary-bookish character of such coinages is quite apparent and needs no
comment. They are always felt to be over-literary because either the stem or the affix
(or both) is not used in the way the reader expects it to be used. Perhaps it would be
more appropriate to say that by forcibly putting together a familiar stem and a familiar
affix and thus producing an unfamiliar word, the writer compels the reader to
concentrate his attention on the new word, firstly by its novelty and secondly by the
necessity of analysing it in order to .decipher the message. By using a neologism
instead of the word or combination of words expected, he violates the main property
of a communication, which is to convey the idea straightforwardly and promptly.
Among new creations those with the suffix -ize seem to be the most i;frequent. The
suffix -ize gives a strong shade of bookishness to new fwords. Here are some more
examples of neologisms with this suffix:
'detribal/3Јd (Africans)'; 'accessor/^'; ''moisturize'; 'villagize'.
Thomas Pyles writes:
"The*-ize suffix... is very voguish in advertizing copy, a most potent disseminator of
modish expressions; ...its fashionableness may explain why 'hospitalize', current since
the turn of the century, has recently begun to flourish."
Some affixes are themselves literary in character and naturally carry this property to
derivatives formed with them. Thus, for example, the prefix anti- has given us a
number of new words which are gradually becoming recognizable as facts of the
English vocabulary, e. g.
'ялй-novelist', 'on/i-hero', 'шг/t-world', 'шгЯ-emotion', 'anti-trend' and the like.
The prefix anti-, as is seen from these examples, has developed a new meaning. It is
rather difficult to specify. In the most general terms it may be defined as 'the reverse
of. In this connection it will be interesting to quote the words of an English journalist
and essayist.
"The spirit of opposition is as necessary as the presence of rules and disciplines, but
unlimited kicking over traces can become a tedious exercise. So can this popular
business of being 'anti' in general. In the world of letters the critical lingo of our time
speaks of the * anti-novel' or * anti-play' which has an 'anti-hero'. Since there is a
fashion for characters unable to communicate, people with nothing to say and no
vocabulary with which to explain their vacuity, 'anti-writing' may fairly be described
as possessing 'anti-dialogue'."
The suffix -dom has also developed a new meaning, as in 'gangdom', 'freckledom',
'musicdo/n' where the suffix is used with the most general meaning of collectivity.
The suffix -ее has been given new life. We have' interrogate', 'autobiography' ("...the
pseudo-autobiographer has swallowed the autobiographee whole." New Statesman,
Nov. 29,1963); 'enrolls' ("Each enrollee is given a booklet filled with advice and
suggestions, and attends the lecture..." New York Times Magazine, Jan. 26, 1964);
'omittee', 'askee' ("That's a bad habit, asking a question and not waiting for an answer,
but it's not always bad for the askee." — Rex Stout, "Too many clients") -- ^ .; -
The suffix -ship has also developed a new shade of meaning which is now gaining
literary recognition, as in the coinages:
'showmans/up', 'brinkmans/up', 'lifemans/u'p', 'lipmans/u'pV 'mistress mans/up',
'sugermans/i/p', ' one-up mans/up', etc.
In these coinages" ад interesting phenomenon seems to be taking place. The word
man is gradually growing first into a half-suffix and finally into part of the complex-
suffix -manship with the approximate meaning 'the ability to do something better than
another person'.
Among voguish suffixes which colour new coinages with a shade of bookishness is
the suffix -ese, the dictionary definition of which is "1) belonging to a city or country
as inhabitant (inhabitants) or language, e. g. Genoese, Chinese; 2) pertaining to a
particular writer (of style or diction), e. g. Johnsonese, journalese."
Modern examples are:
'Daily-Telegraphese', 'New Yorkese'; recently a new word has appeared— 'TV-ese'. It
is the novelty of these creations that attracts our attention
and it is the unexpectedness of the combination that makes us feel that the new
coinage is of a bookish character.
The resistance of purists to the unrestrained flow of new coinages of a bookish
character, which greatly outnumbers the natural colloquial creations, can be illustrated
in the following words of Robert E. Morseberger:
"Anyone familiar with the current crop of horror movies knows that weird mutations
caused by atomic radiation have spawned a brood of malignant monsters, from giant
insects (half human and otherwise) to blobs of glup. While these fortunately are
confined to science fiction, our language itself demonstrates similar grotesque
mutations in truncated, telescoped words and words with extra inflationary growths
on the suffix end, not counting the jargon of special groups from beatniks to
sociologists.
"Among the more frequent and absurd of these linguistic monsters are condensed
words ending in -ratna and -thon. The former comes from panorama from the Greek
pan (== all) plus horama (= a view) or cyclorama from the Greek kyklos (= а circle)
plus horama again. So far so good; the next development is cinerama, still sound,
from the Greek kinema (= motion) and our old friend horama.
"Now the advertisers have taken the suffix-root and proceed to torture it out of sense
and recognition, with horama (or rather a vowel followed by -rama) no longer
meaning simply a view but an entire spectacle or simply a superlative, so that the
suffix has devoured all the original panorama in such distortions as cleanorama (= a
spectacular cleaning spree); tomatorama, beana-rama, bananarama (= a sensational
sale of tomatoes, beans or bananas)...
"Keeping pace with -rama (pacerama) is -thon, a suffix newly minted from ancient
metal. Pheidippides' race from the battlefield of Marathon and the later foot race of
that name gave the noun Marathon the meaning of an endurance contest; but we now
have to endure -thon alone, divorced, and made into a self-sustaining suffix in (sobl)
such words as telethon, walkathon, talkathon, danceathon, cleanathon, ... Clearly
-thon and -rama compete in the rivalry between cleanathon and cleanorama', both
bastard suffixes have swallowed their original noun, and it is only logical that they
should next swallow each other in * thonorama' (= an endurance of various -ramas) or
ramathon (= a panoramic or sensational endurance contest).1
The reader will undoubtedly not fail to observe that the protest against these "ink-
horn" terms is not based on any sound linguistic foundation. It merely shows the
attitude of the writer towards certain novelties in language. They seem to him
monstrous. But there is no indication as to what makes them monstrous. The writer
himself readily uses new words such asglup, beatniks without quotation marks, which
shows, evidently, that he is reconciled to them. Strugglesome, informatative,
connotate, unworthwhile, inferiorism, deride, to be accusated are other words which
he apparently considers distortions. The last string of literary coinages is supplied
with the following footnote: "All words used in this sentence are gratefully
acknowledged as coming from college freshman themes."
Unfortunately there are no objective criteria for ascertaining the stylistic aspect of
words. Therefore the protest of many language purists is sometimes based on
subjective idiosyncrasy. We find objections to the ways and means of coining new
words, as in the quotation above, and also to the unrestrained injection into some
words of emotive meaning when this meaning, it is said, has not yet been widely
recognized, as top (— excellent, wonderful), fey (= somewhat whimsical, in touch
with the supernatural, a little cracked).1 This second objection applies particularly to
the colloquial stratum of words. We also find objections to the new logical meanings
forced upon words, as is done by a certain J. Bell in an article on advertizing agencies.
"Highly literate men are busy selling cancer and alcoholism to the public,
commending inferior goods, garbling facts, confusing figures, exploiting emotions..."
Here the word sell is used in the sense of * establishing confidence in something, of
speaking convincingly, of persuading the public to do, or buy and use something' (in
this case cigarettes, wine and spirits); the word commend has developed the meaning
of 'recommend' and the word inferior has come to mean * lower in price, cheap'; to
garble, the primary meaning of which is 'to sort by sifting', now also means 'to distort
in order to mislead'; to confuse is generally used in the sense of 'to mix up in mind', to
exploit emotions means 'making use of people's emotions for the sake of gain'.
All these words have acquired new meanings because they are used in combinations
not yet registered in the language-as-a-system. It is a well-known fact that any word,
if placed in a strange environment, will inevitably acquire a new shade of meaning.
Not to see this, means not to correctly evaluate the inner laws of the semantic
development of lexical units.
There is still another means of word-building in modern English which may be
considered voguish at the present time, and that is the blending of two words into one
by curtailing the end of the first component or the beginning of the second. Examples
are numerous: musico-medy (music+comedy); cinemactress (cinema+actress);
avigation (avia-tion+navigation); and the already recognized blends like smog-
(smoke+ fog); chortle (chuckle+snort); galumph (triumph+gallop) (both occur in
Humpty Dumpty's poem in Lewis Carroll's "Through the Looking Glass"). Arockoon
(focket+balloon) is 'a rocket designed to be launched from a balloon'. Such words are
called blends
In reviewing the ways and means of coining new words, we must not overlook one
which plays a conspicuous role in changing the meaning of words and mostly
concerns stylistics. We mean injecting into well-known, commonly-used words with
clear-cut concrete meanings, a meaning that the word did not have before. This is
generally due to the combinative power of the word. This aspect of words has long
been underestimated by linguists. Pairing words which hitherto have not been paired,
makes the components of the word-combinations acquire a new, and sometimes quite
unexpected, meaning. Particularly productive is the adjective. It tends to acquire an
emotive meaning alongside its logical meaning, as, for instance, terrible, awful,
dramatic, top.
The result is that an adjective of this kind becomes an intensifies it merely indicates
the degree of the positive or negative quality of the concept embodied in the word that
follows. When it becomes generally accepted,.it becomes part of the semantic
structure of the word, and in this way the semantic wealth of the vocabulary increases.
True, this process is mostly found in the domain of conversation. In conversation an
unexpectedly free use of words is constantly made. It is in conversation that such
words as stunning, grand, colossal, wonderful, exciting and the like have acquired this
intensifying derivative meaning which we call emotive.x But the literary-bookish
language, in quest of new means of impressing the reader, also resorts to this means
of word coinage. It is mostly the product of newspaper language, where the necessity,
nay, the urge, to discover new means of impressing the reader is greatest.
In this connection it is interesting to quote articles from English and American
periodicals in which problems of language in its functional aspect are occasionally
discussed. In one of them, "Current Cliches and Solecisms" by Edmund Wilson,2 the
improper application of the primary and accepted meanings of the words massive,
crucial, transpire and others is condemned. The author of the article is unwilling to
acknowledge the objective development of the word-stock and instead of fixing the
new meanings that are gaining ground in the semantic structure of these words, he
tries to block them from literary usage while ..neglecting the fact that these new
meanings have already been established in the language. This is what he says:
"Massive! I have also written before of this stupid and oppressive word, which seems
to have become since then even more common as a ready cliche that acts as a
blackout on thinking. One now meets it in every department: literary, political,
scientific. In a period of moral impotence, so many things are thought as intimidating
that they are euphemistically referred to as massive. I shall not present further
examples except to register a feeling of horror at finding this adjective resorted to
three times, and twice in the same paragraph, by Lionel! Trilling in Commentary, in
the course of an otherwise admirable discussion of the Leavis—Snow controversy:
massive signi
fwance of "The Two Cultures", massive intention of "The Two Cultures", quite
massive blunder of Snow in regard to the Victorian writers. Was Snow's essay really
that huge and weighty? If it was, perhaps it might follow that any blunder in it must
also be massive."
Another of these emotional intensifiers is the word crucial. It also raises objections on
the part of purists and among them the one whose article we are quoting. "This word,"
writes Edmund Wilson, "which means properly decisive, critical, has come to be
used, and used constantly, in writing as well as in conversation as if it meant merely
important... 'But what is crucial, of course, is that these books aren't very good...*.'Of
course it is of crucial importance'."
Another type of neologism is the nonce-word, i.e. a word coined to suit one particular
occasion. Nonce-words remain on the outskirts of the literary language and not
infrequently remind us of the writers who coined them. They are created to designate
some insignificant subjective idea or evaluation of a thing or phenomenon and
generally become moribund. They rarely pass into the language as legitimate units of
the vocabulary, but they remain in the language as constant manifestations of its
innate power of word-building.
Here are some of these neologisms which, by the way, have the right to be called so
because they will always remain neologisms, i. e. will never lose their novelty:
"Let me say in the beginning that even if I wanted to avoid Texas I could not, for I am
wived in Texas, and mother-in-lawed, and uncled, and aunted, and cousined within an
inch of my life."
(J. Steinbeck)
The past participles mother-in-lawed, uncled, aunted and cousined are coined for the
occasion on the analogy of wived and can hardly be expected to be registered by
English dictionaries as ordinary English words.
Here are some more examples of nonce-words, which strike us by their novelty, force
and aesthetic aspect.
"There is something profoundly horrifying in this immense, indefinite not-thereness
of the Mexican scene." (Huxley)
"You're the bestest good one—she said—the most bestest good one in the
worldT:"v(H. Ё.* Bates)
"That was masterly. Or should one say mistressly" (Huxley)
"Surface knowingness" (J-. Updike); "sevenish" (around seven o'clock); "morish" (a
little more) (A. Christie).
In modern English new words are also coined by a means which is very productive in
technical literature and therefore is mostly found in scientific style, viz. by
contractions and abbreviations. But this means is sometimes resorted to for stylistic
purposes. Here are some of these coinages which appear daily in different spheres of
human activity.
TRUD (=time remaining until dive). The first letters of this word sequence forms the
neologism TRUD which will presumably remain as
a professional term unknown to wider circles of native English speakers. Such also
are the words LOX (= 1. liquid oxygen explosive, 2. liquid oxygen) and GOX (=
gaseous oxygen). To the layman, oxygen is a gas, but in missilery (also anew word) it
is more often a liquid or even a solid, so gaseous oxygen has to be distinguished.
Other better-known examples are laser (= light amplification by stimulated emission
of radiation);
. Unesco (United Nations Education and Science Organization); jeep (GP=General
Purpose car).
Not all of the means of word coinage existing in the English language have been dealt
with in this short survey. The reason for this is simple: in stylistics there are ways and
means of producing an effect which attract the attention of the reader not only by the
novelty of a coinage but by a more elaborate language effect. This effect must be
specified to make clear the intentions of the writer. The writer in this case is seeking
something that will adequately convey his idea to the mind of the reader. The means
assume some additional force: novelty+force.
Therefore in the survey of the means of word-formation only those have been selected
which provide novelty+force.
The stylistic effect achieved by newly-coined words generally rests on the ability of
the mind to perceive novelty at the background of the familiar. The sharper the
contrast, the more obvious the effect. The slight, almost imperceptible changes caused
by extensions of an original meaning might well produce a stylistic effect only when
the reader is well versed in discriminating nuances of meaning.
Thus the use of the words commitment and commit in the meaning of 'involvement'
and 'involve' has imperceptibly crept into common use since approximately 1955 and
is now freely used. So also are the use of unfortunately instead of 'regretfully', the use
of dramatic and massive as intensifiers. Such changes are apparent only to the eye of
the lexicographer and will hardly provoke a twofold application of meaning, unless,
of course, the context forcibly points to such an application.
However, these words will ordinarily carry an expressive function due to their
emotive meaning.
When we tackle the problem of SDs and penetrate more deeply into its essence, it
becomes apparent that stylistic function is not confined to
t phenomena which are foregrounded, as newly-coined words generally are. A
stylistic effect may also be achieved by the skilful interplay of a long-established
meaning and one just being introduced into the lan-guage-as-a-system.
к Thus the word deliver in the United States has acquired the meaning
|л 'to carry out or fulfil an expectation; make good' (Barnhart Dictionary).
| If this word were to carry its original meaning alongside the one now
I .current in the U. S. it would produce a stylistic effect, if, of course, this twofold
application of the word is done deliberately. Novelty is not a device. One must
distinguish between a deliberate, conscious employment
v of the inherent property of words to be used in different meanings simultaneously
and the introduction of a new meaning which in the given context excludes the one
from which it is derived.
In the following examples taken from the Barnhart Dictionary the
italicized words do not display any twofold meanings, although they are illustrative of
the new meanings these words have acquired.
"...he has spent hours reading government cables, memoranda and classified files to
brief himself for in-depth discussions."
*In-depthT, adj. means 'going deeply, thoroughly into a subject'.
"Bullit, I find, is completely typical of the 'now' look in American movies — a swift-
moving, constantly shifting surface that suggests rather than reveals depth."
The word now as an adjective is a novelty. Barnhart labels it slang— "very
fashionable or up-to-date; belonging to the Now Generation."
And still the novelty can be used for stylistic purposes provided that the requirements
for an SD indicated earlier are observed. It must be repeated that newly-minted words
are especially striking. They check the easy flow of verbal sequences and force our
mind to take in the referential meaning. The aesthetic effect in this case will be equal
to zero if the neologism designates a new notion resulting from scientific and
technical investigations. The intellectual will suppress the emotional. However,
coinages which aim at introducing additional meanings as a result of an aesthetic re-
evaluation of the given concept may perform the function of a stylistic device.

4. SPECIAL COLLOQUIAL VOCABULARY


a) Slang
There is hardly any other term that is as ambiguous and obscure as the term slang.
Slang seems to mean everything that is below the standard of usage of present-day
English.
Much has been said and written about it. This is probably due to the uncertainty of the
concept itself. No one has yet given a more or less satisfactory definition of the term.
Nor has it been specified by any linguist who deals with the problem of the English
vocabulary.
The first thing that strikes the scholar is the fact that no other European language has
singled out a^special layer of vocabulary and named it slang, though all of them
distinguish such groups of words as jargon, cant, and the like. Why was it necessary
to invent a special term for something that has not been clearly defined aajargon or
cant have? Is this phenomenon specifically English? Has slang any special features
which no other group within the non-literary vocabulary can lay claim to? The
distinctions between slang and other groups of unconventional English, though
perhaps subtle and sometimes difficult to grasp, should nevertheless be subjected to a
more detailed linguistic specification.
Webster's "Third New International Dictionary" gives the following meanings of the
term:
Slang [origin unknown] 1: language peculiar to a particular group: as a: the special
and often secret vocabulary used by
class (as thieves, beggars) and usu. felt to be vulgar or inferior: argot; b: the jargon
used by or associated with a particular trade, profession, or field of activity; 2: a non-
standard vocabulary coin-posed of words and senses characterized primarily by
connotations of extreme informality and usu. a currency not limited to a particular
region and composed typically of coinages or arbitrarily changed words, clipped or
shortened forms, extravagant, forced or facetious figures of speech, or verbal
novelties usu. experiencing quick popularity and relatively rapid decline into disuse.
The "New Oxford English Dictionary" defines slang as follows:
"a) the special vocabulary used by any set of persons of a low or disreputable
character; language of a low and vulgar type. (Now merged in c. /cant/)', b) the cant or
jargon of a certain class or period; c) language of a highly colloquial type considered
as below the level of standard educated speech, and consisting either of new words or
of current words employed in some special sense."
As is seen from these quotations slang is represented both as a special vocabulary and
as a special language. This is the first thing that causes confusion. If this is a certain
lexical layer, then why should it be given the rank of language? If, on the other hand,
slang is a certain language or a dialect or even a patois, then it should be characterized
not only by its peculiar use of words but also by phonetic, morphological and
syntactical peculiarities.
J. B. Greenough and C. L. Kitteridge define slang in these words:
||, "Slang... is a peculiar kind of vagabond language, always
p hanging on the outskirts of legitimate speech but continually
f|v straying or forcing its way into the most respectable company."1
Another definition of slang which is worth quoting is one made by Eric Partridge, the
eminent student of the non-literary language.
"Slang is much rather a spoken than'a literary'4anguage. It originates, nearly always,
in speech. To coin a term on a written page is almost inevitably to brand it as a
neologism which will either be accepted or become a nonce-word (or phrase), but,
except in the rarest instances, that term will not be slang."2
In most of the dictionaries si. (slang) is used as convenient stylistic notation for a
word or a phrase that cannot be specified more exactly. The obscure etymology of the
term itself affects its use as a stylistic notation. Whenever the notation appears in a
dictionary it may serve as an indication that the unit presented is non-literary, but not
pinpointed. Thai is the reason why the various dictionaries disagree in the use of this
term when applied as a stylistic notation.3
Any new coinage that has not gained recognition and therefore has not yet been
received into standard English is easily branded as slang.
The Times of the 12th of March, 1957 gives the following illustrations of slang: leggo
(let go), sarge (sergeant), 'I've got a date with that Miss Morris to-night'. But it is
obvious that leggo is a phonetic impropriety caused by careless rapid speaking; sarge
is a vulgar equivalent of the full form of the word; date is a widely recognized
colloquial equivalent (synonym) of the literary and even bookish rendezvous (a
meeting).
These different and heterogeneous phenomena united under the vague term slang
cause n-atural confusion and do not encourage scholars to seek more objective criteria
in order to distinguish the various stylistic layers of the English colloquial vocabulary.
The confusion is made still deeper by the fact that any word or expression apparently
legitimate, if used in an arbitrary, fanciful or metaphorical sense, may easily be
labelled as slang. Many words formerly labelled as slang have now become legitimate
units of standard English. Thus the word kid (=child), which was considered low
slang in the nineteenth century, is now a legitimate colloquial unit of the English
literary language.
Some linguists, when characterizing the most conspicuous features of slang, point out
that it requires continuous innovation. It never grows stale. If a slang word or phrase
does become stale, it is replaced by a new slangism. It is claimed that this satisfies the
natural desire for fresh, newly created words and expressions, which give to an utter-
ance emotional colouring and a subjective evaluation. Indeed, it seems to be in
correspondence with the traditional view of English conservatism, that a special
derogative term should have been coined to help preserve the "purity of standard
English" by hindering the penetration into it of undesirable elements. The point is that
the heterogeneous nature of the term serves as a kind of barrier which checks the
natural influx of word coinages into the literary language. True, such barriers are not
without their advantage in polishing up the literary language. This can be proved by
the progfessive role played By any conscious effort to sift innovations, some of which
are indeed felt to be unnecessary, even contaminating elements in the body of the
language. In this respect the American newspaper may serve as an example of how
the absence of such a sifting process results in the contamination of the literary tongue
of the nation with ugly redundant coinages. Such*a barrier, however, sometimes turns
into an obstacle which hinders the natural development of the literary language.
The term 'slang', which is widely used in English linguistic science, should be clearly
specified if it is"to be used as a term, i. e. it should refer to some definite notion
and'should be definable in explicit, simple terms. It is suggested here that the term
'slang' should be used for those forms of the English vocabulary which are either
mispronounced or distorted in some way phonetically, morphologically or lexically.
The term 'slang' should also be used to specify some elements which may be called
over-colloquial. As for the other groups of words hitherto classified as slang, they
should be specified according to the universally accepted classification of the
vocabulary of a language.
But this must be done by those whose mother tongue is English. They, and they only,
being native speakers of the English language, are its masters and lawgivers. It is for
them to place slang in its proper category by specifying its characteristic features.
Slang is nothing but a deviation from the established norm at the level of the
vocabulary of the language. V. V. Vinogradov writes that one of the tasks set before
the branch of linguistic science that is now called stylistics, is a thorough study of all
changes in vocabulary, set phrases, grammatical constructions, their functions, an
evaluation of any breaking away from the established norm, and classification of
mistakes and failures in word coinage.l
H. Wentworth and S. Flexner in their "Dictionary of American Slang" write:
"Sometimes slang is used to escape the dull familiarity of standard words, to suggest
an escape from the established routine of everyday life. When slang is used, our life
seems a little fresher and a little more personal. Also, as at all levels of speech, slang
is sometimes used for the pure joy of making sounds, or even for a need to attract
attention by making noise. The sheer newness and informality of certain slang words
produce pleasure.
"But more important than this expression of a more or less hidden aesthetic motive on
the part of the speaker is the slang's reflection of the personality, the outward, clearly
visible characteristics of the speaker. By and large, the man who uses slang is a
forceful, pleasing, acceptable personality."
This quotation from a well-known scientific study of slang clearly shows that what is
labelled slang is either all kinds of nonce-formations—so frequently appearing in
lively everyday speech and just as quickly disappearing from the language—, or
jocular words and word-combinations that are formed by using the various means of
^ord-build-ing existing in the language and also by distorting "the form or sense of
existing words. Here are some more examples of words that are considered slang:
to take stock in—'to be interested in, attach importance, give credence to'
bread-basket—'the stomach' (a jocular use)
to do a flit— 'to quit one's flat or lodgings at night without paying the rent or board'
rot—'nonsense!'
the cat's pyjamas—'the correct thing*
So broad is the term 'slang' that, according to Eric Partridge, there are many kinds of
slang, e. g. Cockney, public-house, commercial, society, military, theatrical,
parliamentary and others. This leads
the author to believe that there is also a standard slang, the slang that is common to all
those who, though employing received standard in their writing and speech, also use
an informal language which, in fact, is no language but merely a way of speaking^
using special words and phrases in some special sense. The most confusing definition
of the nature of slang is the following one given by Partridge.
"...personality and one's surroundings (social or occupational) are'the two co-
efficients, the two chief factors, the determining causes of the nature of slang, as they
are of language in general and of style."1
According to this statement one may get the idea that language, style and slang all
have the same nature, the same determining causes. Personality and surroundings
determine:
1. the nature of the slang used by a definite person,
2. the nature of the language he uses,
3. the kind of style he writes.
There is a general tendency in England and to some extent in the US to over-estimate
the significance of slang by attaching to it more significance than it deserves. Slang is
regarded as the quintessence of colloquial speech and therefore stands above all the
laws of grammar. Though it is regarded by some purists as a language that stands
below standard English, it is highly praised nowadays as "vivid", "more flexible",
"more picturesque", "richer in vocabulary" and so on.
Unwittingly one arrives at the idea that slang, as used by English and Americans, is a
universal term for any word or phrase which, though not yet recognized as a fact of
standard English, has won general recognition as a fresh innovation quite irrespective
of its nature: whether it is cant, jargon, dialect, jocular or a pure colloquialism. It is
therefore important, for the sake of,a scientific, approach to the problem of a stylistic
classifieation of the English vocabulary, to make a more exact discrimination between
heterogeneous elements in the vocabulary, no matter how difficult it may be.
The following is an interesting example illustrating the contrast between standard
English and non-literary English including slang.
In the story "By Courier" Q. Henry opposes neutral and common literary words to
special colloquial words and slang for a definite stylistic purpose, viz. to distott a
message by translating the literary vocabulary of one speaker into the non-literary
vocabulary of another.
"Tell her I am on my way to the station, to leave for San Francisco, where I shalTjoin
that Alaska moosehunting expedition. Tell her that, since she has commanded 'me
neither to speak nor to write to her, I take this means of making one last appeal to her
sense of justice, for the sake of what has been. Tell her that to condemn and discard
one who has not deserved such treatment, without giving him her reason or a chance
to explain is contrary to her nature as I believe it to be."
This message was delivered in the following manner:
"He told me to tell yer he's got his collars and cuffs in dat grip for a scoot clean out to'
Frisco. Den he's goin' to shoot snowbirds in de Klondike. He says yer told him to
send' round no more pink notes nor come hangin' over de garden gate, and he takes
dis mean (sending the boy to speak for him.— /. G.) of putting yer wise. He says yer
referred to him like a has-been, and never give him no chance to kick at de decision.
He says yer swiled him and never said why."
The contrast between what is standard English and what is crude, broken non-literary
or uneducated American English has been achieved by means of setting the common
literary vocabulary and also the syntactical design of the original message against
jargonisms, slang and'all kinds of distortions of forms, phonetic, morphological,
lexical and syntactical.
It is suggestive that there is a tendency in some modern dictionaries to replace the
label slang by informal or colloquial.1 Such a practice clearly manifests the
dissatisfaction of some lexicographers with the term 'slang'. This is mainly due to the
ambiguity of the term.
On the other hand, some lexicographers, as has already been pointed out, still make
use of the term 'slang' as a substitute for 'jargon', 'cant', 'colloquialism',
'professionalism', 'vulgar', 'dialectal'. Thus, in his dictionary Prof. Barnhart gives the
label si to such innovations as "grab— to cause (a person) to react; make an
impression on", which, to my mind, should be classed as newspaper jargon; "grass or
pot—mari-juarta", which are positively cant words (the quotation that follows proves
it quite unambiguously); "groove—something very enjoyable," "grunt— U.S.^
military slang", which in fact is a professionalism; "gyppy tummy, British slang,— a
common intestinal upset experienced by travellers", which is a colloquialism;
"hangup—a psychological or emotional problem", which is undoubtedly a
professionalism which has undergone extension of meaning and now, according to
Barnhart also means "any problem or difficulty, especially one that causes annoyance
or irritation."
The use of the label si in this way is evidently due to the fact that Barnhart's
Dictionary aims not so much at discrimination between different stylistic subtleties of
neologisms but mainly at fixation of lexical units which have already won general
recognition through constant repetition in newspaper language.
The term 'slang' is ambiguous because, to use a figurative expression, it has become a
Jack of all trades and master of none.
b) Jargonisms
In the non-literary vocabulary of the English language there is a group of words that
are called jargonisms. Jargon is a recognized term for a group of words that exists in
almost every language and whose aim is to preserve secrecy within one or another
social group. Jargonisms are generally old words with entirely new meanings imposed
on them. The traditional meaning of the words is immaterial, only the new,
improvised meaning is of importance. Most of the Jargonisms of any language, and of
the English language too, are absolutely incomprehensible to those outside the social
group which has invented them. They may be defined as a code within a code, that is
special meanings of words that are imposed on the recognized code—the dictionary
meaning of the words.
Thus the word grease means 'money'; loaf means 'head'; a tiger hunter is 'a^gambler';
a lexer is 'a student preparing for a law course'.
Jargonisms are social in character. They are not regional. In Britain and in the US
almost any social group of people has its own jargon. The following jargons are well
known in the English language: the jargon of thieves and vagabonds, generally known
as cant; the jargon of jazz people; the jargon of the army, known as military slang; the
jargon of sportsmen, and many others.
The various jargons (which in fact are nothing but a definite group of words) remain a
foreign language to the outsiders of any particular social group. It is interesting in
connection with this to quote a stanza from "Don Juan" by Byron where the poet
himself finds it necessary to comment on the Jargonisms he has used for definite
stylistic purposes.
"He from the world had cut off a great man,
Who in his time had made heroic bustle. Who in a row like Tom could lead the van,
Booze in the ken *, or at the spellken 2 hustle? Who queer a flat9? Who (spite of Bow
street's ban)
On the high toby-spice 4 so flash the muzzle? Who on a lark ^with black-eyed Sal
(his blowing) 6
So prime, so swell 7, so nutty ^, and so knowing?"
The explanation of the words used here was made by Byron's editor because they
were all Jargonisms in Byron's time and no one would understand their meaning
unless they were explained in normal English.
Byron wrote the following ironic comment to this stanza:
"The advance vof. science and of language has rendered it unnecessary to translate the
above good and true English, spoken in its original purity by the select nobility and
their patrons. The following is a stanza of a song which was very popular, at least in
my early days:—*
1 ken = a house which harbours thieves
2 spellken = a play-house or theatre
3 to queer a flat = to puzzle a silly fellow
4 to flash the muzzle (gun) on the high toby-spice = to rob on horse back
5 a lark = fun or sport of any kind
6 a blowing = a girl
2 swell = gentlemanly
8 nutty = pleasing (to be nuts on = to be infatuated with)
"On the high toby-spice flash the muzzle, In spite of each gallows old scout; If you at
all spellken can't hustle, You'll be hobbled in making a Clout. Then your Blowing will
wax gallows haughty, When she hears of your scaly mistake, She'll surely turn snitch
for the forty— That her Jack may be regular weight."
If there be any gemman (^gentleman) so ignorant as to require a traduction, I refer
him to my old friend and corporeal pastor and master, John Jackson, Esq., Professor
of pugilism; who, I trust, still retains the strength and symmetry of his model of a
form, together with his good humour • and athletic as well as mental
accomplishments." (John Murray. "The Poetical Works of Lord Byron")
Slang, contrary to jargon, needs no translation. It is not a secret code. It is easily
understood by the English-speaking community and is only regarded as something not
quite regular. It must also be remembered that both jargon and slang differ from
ordinary language mainly in their vocabularies. The structure of the sentences and the
morphology of the language remain practically unchanged. But such is the power of
words, which are the basic and most conspicuous element in the language, that we
begin unwittingly to speak of a separate language.
Jargonisms do not always remain the possession of a given social group. Some of
them migrate into other social strata and sometimes become recognized in the literary
language of the nation. G. H. McKnight writes:
"The language of the underworld provided words facetiously adopted by the
fashionable world, many of which, such as fan and queer and banter and bluff and
sham and humbug, eventually made their way into dignified use." *
There are hundreds of words, once Jargonisms or slang, which have become
legitimate members of the English literary language.
Jargonisms have their definite place of abode and are therefore easily classified
according to the social divisions of the given period. Almost any calling has its own
jargon, i.e. its set of words with which its members intersperse their speech and render
it incomprehensible to outsiders. Some linguists even maintain that:
"Within the limits of any linguistic unity there are as many languages as there are
groups of people thrown together by propinquity and common interests." 2
This is, of course, an overstatement. First of all, one should not mix up such notions
as language and vocabulary. True, unknown words
and phrases, if too many, may render speech unintelligible. But this fact does not raise
speech to the level of a different language. ,.g..
Jargonisms, however, do break away from the accepted norms oflvi semantic variants
of words. They are a special group within the non-|;| literary layer of words.
There is a common jargon and there are also special professional jargons. Common
Jargonisms have gradually lost their special quality, which is to promote secrecy and
keep outsiders in the dark. In fact, there are no outsiders where common jargon is
concerned. It belongs to all social groups and is therefore easily understood by
everybody. That is why it is so difficult to draw a hard and fast line between slang and
jargon. When a jargonism becomes common, it has passed on to a higher step on the
ladder of word groups and becomes slang or colloquial.
Here are some further examples of jargon:
Piou-Piou—'a French soldier, a private in the infantry'. According to Eric Partridge
this word has already passed from military jargon to ordinary colloquial speech.
Humrnen—'a false arrest* (American)
Dar—(from damned average raiser)—'a persevering and assiduous student'.
(University jargon)
Matlo(w)—'a sailor' (from the French word 'matelof)
Man and wife—'a knife' (rhyming slang)
Manany—'a sailor who is always putting off a job or work' (nautical jargon) (from the
Spanish word 'mamma'—4o-morrow')
The word brass in the meaning of 'money in general, cash' is not jargon inasmuch as
there is an apparent semantic connection between 'the general name for all alloys of
copper with tin or zinc' and cash. The metonymic ties between the two meanings
prevent the word from being used as a special code word. The same can be said of the
words joker — 'something*used to play atriqkorwin one's point or object with' from
card-playing; drag—'to rob vehicles'; to soap-box—'to make speeches out-of-doors
standing on a soap-box\ These are easily understood by native speakers and therefore
fail to meet the most indispensable property of jargon words. They are slang words or
perhaps colloquial.
On the other hand, such words as soap and flannel meaning 'bread' and 'cheese'
(naval), and some of the words mentioned above are scarcely likely to be understood
by the language community. Only those who are in the know understand such words.
Therefore they can be classed as Jargonisms.
It will not come amiss to mention here the words of Vandryes, a well-known French
linguist, who said that "...jargon distorts words, it does not create them." Indeed, the
creation of really new words is a very rare process. In almost any language you can
find only a few entirely new words. It is not accidental therefore that the efforts of
some poets to coin completely new words have proved to be an absolute failure, their
attempts being utterly rejected by the language community.
In passing, we must remark that both slang and the various jargons of Great Britain
differ much more from those of America (the United
States and Canada) than the literary language in the two countries does. In fact, the
most striking difference is to be observed in the non-literary layer of words and
particularly in slang and Jargonisms and professionalisms. (See quotation from
Randolph Quirk on p. 44).
"American slang," remarks G. H. McKnight, "on the whole remains a foreign
language to the Englishman. American plays such as "Is zat so" and American novels
such as "Babbitt" have had to be provided with glossaries in order to be intelligible in
England. John Galsworthy in his recent novel "The Silver Spoon" makes a naturalistic
use of colloquial idiom. He exhibits the rich element of native slang in the colloquial
speech of England." *
Jargonisms, like slang and other groups of the non-literary layer, do not always
remain on the outskirts of the literary language. Many words have overcome the
resistance of the language lawgivers and purists and entered the standard vocabulary.
Thus the words kid, fun, queer, bluff, fib, humbug, formerly slang words or
Jargonisms, are now considered common colloquial. They may be said to be
dejargonized.
c) Professionalisms
H Professionalisms, as the term itself signifies, are the words used in a definite
trade, profession or calling by people connected by common interests both at work
and at home. They commonly designate some working process or implement of
labour. Professionalisms are correlated to terms. Terms, as has already been indicated,
are coined to nominate new concepts that appear in the process of, and as a result of,
technical progress and the development of science.
Professional words name anew already-existing concepts, tools or instruments, and
have the typical properties of a special code. The main feature of a professionalism is
its technicality. Professionalisms are special words in the non-literary layer of the
English vocabulary, whereas terms are a specialized group belonging to the literary
layer of words. Terms, if they are connected with a field or branch of science or tech-
nique well-known to ordinary people, are easily decoded and enter the neutral stratum
of the vocabulary. Professionalisms generally remain in circulation within a definite
community, as they are linked to a common occupation and common social interests.
The semantic structure of the term is usually transparent and is therefore easily
understood. The semantic structure of a professionalism is often dimmed by the image
on which the meaning of the professionalism is based, particularly when the features
of the object in question reflect the process of the work, metaphorically or
metonymically. Like terms, professionalisms do not allow any polysemy, they are
monosemantic.
Here are some professionalisms used in different trades: tin-fish (^submarine); block-
buster (= a bomb especially designed to destroy
blocks of big buildings); piper (=a specialist who decorates pastry with the use of a
cream-pipe); a midder case (=a midwifery case); outer (=& knockout blow).
Some professionalisms, however, like certain terms, become popular and gradually
lose their professional flavour. Thus the word crane which Byron used in his "Don
Juan" ... was a verb meaning 4o stretch out the neck like a crane before a dangerous
leap' (in hunting, in order to 'look before you leap'). Now, according to Eric Partridge,
it has broadened its meaning and is used in the sense of 4o hesitate at an obstacle, a
danger'. By 1860 it was no more a professionalism used in hunting but had become a
colloquial word of the non-literary stratum and finally, since 1890, entered the
standard English vocabulary.
"No good craning at it. Let's go down." (Galsworthy)
Professionalisms should not be mixed up with jargonisms. Like slang words,
professionalisms do not aim at secrecy. They fulfil a socially useful function in
communication, facilitating a quick and adequate grasp of the message.
Good examples of professionalisms as used by a man-of-letters can be found in
Dreiser's "Financier." The following passage is an illustration.
Frank soon picked up all the technicalities of the situation. A "bull", he learned, was
one who bought in anticipation of a higher price to come; and if he was "loaded" up
with a "line" of stocks he was said to be "long". He sold to "realize" his profit, or if
his margins were exhausted he was "wiped out". A "bear" was one who sold stocks
which most frequently he did not have, in anticipation of a lower price at which he
could buy and satisfy his previous sales. He was "short" when he had sold what he did
not own, and he was "covered" when he bought to satisfy his s^Jes and tcTrealize his
profits or to protect himself against further loss in the case prices advanced instead of
declining. He was in a "corner" when he found that he could not buy in order to make
good the stock he had borrowed for delivery and the return of which had been
demanded. He was then obliged to settle practically at a price fixed by those to whom
he and other "shorts" had sold:
As is seen, each financial professionalism is explained by the author and the words
themselves are in-Jnverted commas to stress their peculiar idiomatic sense and also
to,indicate that the words do not belong to the standard English vocabulary in the
meanings they are used.
There are certain fields of human activity which enjoy nation-wide interest and
popularity. This, for example, is the case in Great Britain where sports and games are
concerned. English pugilistic terminology, for example, has gained particularly wide
recognition and therefore is frequently used in a transferred meaning, thus adding to
the general image-building function of emotive prose. Here is an example of the use
of such professionalisms in fiction,
"Father Knickerbocker met them at the ferry giving one a right-hander on the nose
and the other an uppercut with his left just to let them know that the fight was on"
This is from a story by O. Henry called "The Duel" in which the writer depicts two
characters who came from the West to conquer New York. The vocabulary of boxing
(right-hander, uppercut), as well as other professional terms found in the story, like
ring, to counter, to clinch, etc., help to maintain the atmosphere of a fight, which the
story requires.
Professionalisms are used in emotive prose to depict the natural speech of a character.
The skilful use of a professional word will show not only the vocation of a character,
but also his education, breeding, environment and sometimes even his psychology.
That is why, perhaps, a literary device known as speech-characterization is so
abundantly used in emotive prose. The use of professionalisms forms the most
conspicuous element of this literary device.
An interesting article was published in the Canadian Globe and Mail * in which the
author shows how a journalist who mocks at the professionalisms in the language of
municipal planners, which render their speech almost incomprehensible, himself uses
words and expressions unintelligible to the lay reader, Here is the article,
JOURNALESE
I was glad to read recently how incomprehensible the language of city planners is to
newspapermen. I decided to call the author of the article and express my appreciation:
"Hello, I'd like to speak to a reporter of yours named Terrance Wills."
"Is he on city side or the night rewrite desk?"
"I'm not sure. Maybe he's at his type-writer."
The operator said something under his breath and then connected me to the third
assistant executive city editor. After about 15 minutes of this I was finally able to
communicate directly with Mr. Wills:
"That was a great story you did on 'plannerese', sir," I told him. "Where did you get
the idea for it?"
"Why, I just went to the morgue one day when there weren't many obits to do and I
got a few clippings. Then I talked with the copy-editor and he gave me a 32-point
italic headline with an overhanging deck"
"Is that good?"
"Sure it is. Even a cub knows that. Well I wrote a couple of takes and got it in the box
just before the deadline for the second night final edition"
"Is that hard to do?" I asked. My head was beginning to ache.
"What? Sure, I guess. Listen, I'd like to discuss this with you further but I'm on the
rewrite desk and my legman is going to be calling in a scoop any minute now. Good-
bye."
I sat there with the phone in my hand, thankful that in this complex age the journalists
are still preserving simple English.
d) Dialectal words
This group of words is obviously opposed to the other groups of the non-literary
English vocabulary and therefore its stylistic, functions can be more or less clearly
defined. Dialectal words are those which in the process of integration of the English
national language remained beyond its literary boundaries, and their use is generally
confined to a definite locality. We exclude here what are called social dialects or even
the still looser application of the term as in expressions like poetical dialect or styles
as dialects.
With reference to this group there is a confusion of terms, particularly between the
terms dialectal, slang and vernacular. In order to ascertain the true value and the
stylistic functions of dialectal words it is necessary to look into their nature. For this
purpose a quotation from Cecil Wyld's "A History of Modern Colloquial English"
will be to the point.
"The history of a very large part of the vocabulary of the present-day English dialects
is still very obscure, and it is doubtful whether much of it is of any antiquity. So far
very little attempt has been made to sift the chaff from the grain in that very vast
receptacle of the English Dialect Dictionary, and to decide which elements are really
genuine 'corruptions' of words which the yokel has heard from educated speakers, or
read, misheard, or misread, and ignorantly altered, and adopted, often with a slightly
twisted significance. Probably many hundreds of 'dialect7 words are of this origin,
and have no historical value whatever, except inasmuch as they illustrate a general
principle in the modification of speech. Such words are not, as a rule, characteristic of
any Regional Dialect, although they may be ascribed to one of these, simply because
sojrne collector of dialect forms has happened to hear them in a particular-area. They
belong rather to the category of 'mistakes7 which any ignorant speaker may make,
and which such persons do make, again and again, in every part of the country." *
We are not concerned here with the historical aspect of dialectal words. For our
purpose it wilT suffice to note that there is a definite similarity of functions'la the use
of slang, cockney and any other form of non-literary English and that of dialectal
words. All these groups when used in emotive prose are meant to characterize the
speaker as a person of a certain locality, breeding, education, etc.
There is sometimes a difficulty in distinguishing dialectal words from colloquial
words. Some dialectal words have become so familiar in good colloquial or standard
colloquial English that they are universally accepted as recognized units of the
standard colloquial English. To these words belong lass, meaning 'a girl or a beloved
girl7 and the corresponding lad, 'a boy or a young man7, daft from the Scottish and
the northern dialect, meaning 'of unsound mind, silly7; fash also
Scottish, with the meaning of 'trouble, cares'. Still they have not lost their dialectal
associations and therefore are used in literary English with the above-mentioned
stylistic function of characterization.
Of quite a different nature are dialectal words which are easily recognized as
corruptions of standard English words, although etymological-ly they may have
sprung from the peculiarities of certain dialects. The following words may serve as
examples: hinny from honey; tittle apparently from sister, being a childish corruption
of the word; cutty meaning a 'testy or naughty girl or woman7.
Most of the examples so far quoted come from the Scottish and the northern dialects.
This is explained by the fact that Scotland has struggled to retain the peculiarities of
her language. Therefore many of the words fixed in dictionaries as dialectal are of
Scottish origin.
Among other dialects used for stylistic purposes in literature is the southern dialect (in
particular that of Somersetshire). This dialect has a phonetic peculiarity that
distinguishes it from other dialects, viz. initial [si and [f] are voiced, and are written in
the direct speech of characters as [z] and M, for example: 'volk7 (folk), 'vound7
(found), 'zee7 (see), 'zinking7 (sinking). To show how the truly dialectal words are
intermingled with all kinds of improprieties of speech, it will be enough to quote the
following excerpt from Galsworthy's "A Bit of Love."
"Mrs. Burlacomble: Zurelyl I give 4m a nummit afore 'e gets up; an' "e 'as 'is brekjus
regular at nine. Must feed un up. He'm on 'is feet all day, goin7 to zee folk that
widden want to zee an angel, they'т that busy; art when 'e comes in 'e 'II play 'is flute
there. He'm wastin' away for want of 'is wife. That's what'tis. On' 'im so zweet-spoken,
tu, 'tis a pleasure to year 'im—Never zays a word!"
Dialectal words are only to be found in the style of emotive prose, very rarely in other
styles. And even here their use is confined to the function of characterizing
personalities through their speech. Perhaps it would not be a false supposition to
suggest that if-it were not for the use of the dialectal words in emotive prose they
would have already disappeared entirely from the English language. The unifying
tendency of the literary language is so strong that language elements used only in
dialect are doomed to vanish, except, perhaps, those which, because of their vigour
and beauty, have withstood the integrating power of the written language.
Writers who use dialectal words for the purpose of characterizing the speech of a
person in a piece of emotive prose or drama, introduce them into the word texture in
different ways. Some writers make an unrestrained use of dialectal words and also
slang, jargonisms and professionalisms, not only in characterization, but also in their
narrative. They mistake units of language which have not yet established themselves
in standard English for the most striking features of modern English. An over-
abundance of words and phrases of what we call non-literary English not only makes
the reading difficult, but actually contaminates the generally accepted norms of the
English language.
Other writers use dialectal words sparingly, introducing only units which are
understandable to the intelligent English reader, or they make use of units which they
think will enrich the standard English vocabulary. Among words which are easily
understood by the average Englishman are: maister, weel, eneugh, laird, naething and
the like, characteristic of Scottish.
Dialectal words, unlike professionalisms, are confined in their use to a definite
locality and most of the words deal, as H. C. Wyld points out, with the everyday life
of the country.
"Such words will for the most part be of a more or less technical character, and
connected with agriculture, horses, cattle and sport," i
e) Vulgar words or vulgarisms
The term vulgarism, as used to single out a definite group of words of non-standard
English, is rather misleading. The ambiguity of the term apparently proceeds from the
etymology of the word. Vulgar, as explained by the Shorter Oxford Dictionary, means
a) words or names employed in ordinary speech; b) common, familiar; c) commonly
current or prevalent, generally or widely disseminated.
Out of seven various meanings given in Webster's Third New International Dictionary
six repeat nearly the same definitions that are given in the Shorter Oxford, and only
the seventh is radically different. Here it is:
"5a: marked by coarseness of speech or expression; crude or offensive in language, b:
lewd, obscene or profane in expression...: indecent, indelicate,"
These two submeanklgs are the foundation of what we here name vulgarisms. Sot*
vulgarisms are: ^
1) expletives and swear words which are of an abusive character, like 'damn', 'bloody',
4o hell', 'goddam' and, as some dictionaries state, used now as general exclamations;
2) obscene words. These are known as four-letter words the use of which is banned in
any form of .intercourse as being indecent. Historians tell us that in Middle-JVges and
down into the 16th century they were accepted in oral speech Јnd after Caxton even
admitted to the printed page. All of these words are of Anglo-Saxon origin.
Vulgarisms are often used in conversation out of habit, without any thought of what
they mean, or in'imitation of those who use them in order not to seem old-fashioned
or prudish. Unfortunately in modern fiction these words have gained legitimacy. The
most vulgar of them are now to be found even in good novels. This lifting of the
taboo has given rise to the almost unrestrained employment of words which soil the
literary language. However, they will never acquire the status of standard English
vocabulary and will always remain on the outskirts.
The function of expletives is almost the same as that of interjections, that is to express
strong emotions, mainly annoyance, anger, vexation and the like. They are not to be
found in any functional style of language except emotive prose, and here only in the
direct speech of the characters.
The language of the underworld is rich in coarse words and expressions. But not
every expression which may be considered coarse should be regarded as a vulgarism.
Coarseness of expression may result from improper grammar, non-standard
pronunciation, from the misuse of certain literary words and expressions, from a
deliberate distortion of words. These are improprieties of speech but not vulgarisms.
Needless to say the label coarse is very frequently used merely to designate an
expression which lacks refinement. But vulgarisms, besides being coarse properly, are
also rude and emotionally strongly charged and, like any manifestation of excess of
feelings, are not very discernible as to their logical meaning.
f) Colloquial coinages (words and meanings)
Colloquial coinages (nonce-words), unlike those of a literary-bookish character, are
spontaneous and elusive. This proceeds from the very nature of the colloquial words
as such. Not all of the colloquial nonce-words are fixed in dictionaries or even in
writing and therefore most of them disappear from the language leaving no trace in it
whatsoever.
Unlike literary-bookish coinages, nonce-words of a colloquial nature are not usually
built by means of affixes but are based on certain semantic changes in words that are
almost imperceptible to the linguistic observer until the word finds its way into print.
It is only a careful stylistic analysis of the utterance as a whole that will reveal a new
shade of meaning inserted into the semantic structure of a given word or word-
combination.
Writers often show that they are conscious of the specific character of the nonce-word
they use by various means. The „following-are illustrations of the deliberate use of a
new word that either was already established in the language or was in process of
being established as such:
"...besides, there is a tact——
(That modern phrase appears to me sad stuff.
But it will serve to keep my verse compact).
(Byron, "Don^Juan")
According to the Oxford Dictionary the meaning of the word tact as used in these
lines appeared in the English language in 1804. Byron, who keenly felt any
innovation introduced into the literary language of his time, accepts it unwillingly,
A similar case in which a writer makes use of a newly invented colloquial expression,
evidently strongly appreciating its meaning, may be noticed in "In Chancery", where
Galsworthy uses to be the limit in the sense of 'to be unbearable' and comments on it,
"Watching for a moment of weakness she wrenched it free; then placing the dining-
table between them, said between her teeth: You are the limit, Monty." (Undoubtedly
the inception of this phrase—so is English formed under the stress of circumstance.)
New expressions accepted by men-of-letters and commented on in one way or another
are not literary coinages but colloquial ones. New literary coinages will always bear
the brand of individual creation and will therefore have more or less precise semantic
boundaries. The meaning of literary coinages can easily be grasped by the reader
because of the use of the productive means of word-building, and also from the
context, of course.
This is not the case with colloquial nonce-words. The meaning of these new creations
creeps into well-known words imperceptibly. One hardly notices the process leading
to the appearance of a new meaning. Therefore colloquial nonce-formations are
actually not new words but new meanings of existing words. True, there are some
words that are built with the help of affixes, but these are few and they are generally
built with the most common suffixes or prefixes of the English language which have
no shade of bookishness, as -er, -al, un- and the like.
New coinage in colloquial English awakens as emphatic a protest on the part of
literary-conscious people as do nonce-words in literary English. Here is an interesting
quotation from an article in'The New York Times Magazine:
"Presently used to mean 'at the present moment' but became so completely coloured
with idea of 'in the near future7 that when its older meaning came back into general
use after World War II, through re-introduction into civilian speech of the conserva-
tive military meaning, many people were outraged and insisted that the old meaning
was being corrupted—whereas, in fact, the 'corrtfptioji' was^ being, purged. Human
nature being what it is, and promptness ever behind promise, the chances are strong
that the renewed meaning will fade.
"Peculiar originally meant 'belonging exclusively to'. We still keep the older meaning
in such statement as 'a custom peculiar to that country'. But by extension it came to
mean 'uncommon' and thenceJodd' with the overtones of suspicion and mistrust that
oddness moves us to:" x
Some changes in meaning are really striking. What are called semantic changes in
words have long been under the observation of both lexicologists and lexicographers.
Almost every textbook on the study of words abounds in examples of words that have
undergone such considerable changes in meaning that their primary meanings are
almost lost. See the changes in the words nice, knave, marshal, fellow, for example.
In some cases it is difficult to draw a line of demarcation between nonce-words of
bookish and of colloquial origin. Some words which have undoubtedly sprung from
the literary-bookish stratum have become popular in ordinary colloquial language and
have acquired new meanings in their new environment.
Bergan Evans, co-author of "A Dictionary of Contemporary Usage" in an article
published in The New York Times Book Review says that "Words are living things.
They grow, take roots, adapt to environmental changes like any plant or animal." l
This, of course, should be taken as a metaphor. But in observing the changes of
meaning that words may undergo, the comparison is really apt. The author shows how
the word sophisticated, undoubtedly a word of bookish origin, has developed new
meanings. Let us follow his trend of investigation. The word sophisticated originally
meant 'wise'. Then, through its association with theSophists, it came to mean'over-
subtle', 'marked by specious but fallacious reasoning', 'able to make the worse appear
the better reason'. Then it developed the additional, derivative sense of 'adulterated',
i.e. 'spoiled by admixture of inferior material'. This meaning naturally gave birth to a
new shade of meaning, viz. 'corrupted'. Then suddenly (as Evans has it) the attitude
implicit in the word was reversed; it ceased to mean unpleasantly worldly-wise and
came to mean admirably worldly-wise. For the past fifteen years sophistication has
been definitely a term of praise. By 1958 in John O'Hara's "From the Terrace",
sophistication had come to signify not 'corruption' but almost the 'irreducible
minimum of good manners'.
Sudden alterations in meaning have frequently been observed in studies of semantic
change. The unexpectedness of some of the changes is really striking and can be
accounted for only by the shift of the sphere of usage from literary to colloquial. It is
evidently the intonation pattern that brings forth the change. Perhaps the real cause of
such changes is the ironic touch attached to the word sophistication and also to other
words Which have undergone such an unexpected shift in meaning.
It follows then that some nonce-words and meanings may, on the one hand, acquire
legitimacy and thus become facts of the language, while, on the other hand, they may
be classified аз literary orcolloquial according to which of the meanings is being dealt
with.
The ways and means of semantic change are sometimes really mysterious. To use
Evans's words, "some words go hog wild in meaning. The word sophisticated from its
colloquial use denoting some passive quality started to mean 'delicately responsive to
electronic stimuli', 'highly complex mechanically', 'requiring skilled control',
'extraordinarily sensitive in receiving, interpreting and transmitting signals'. Or at
least that is what one must guess it means in such statements as "Modern ra-der is
vastly more sophisticated than quaint, old-fashioned rader". (Time)', later "the IL-18
is aeronautically more sophisticated than the giant TU-114." "Pioneer V is
exceedingly sophisticated." (Chicago Sunday Times) and "The Antikythera
mechanism is far more sophisticated than any described in classical scientific texts."
(Scientific American)"
Mr. Evans's article shows how unexpected changes in meaning may be, and how
strangely literary and colloquial nonce-coinages may interweave.
There is another feature of colloquial nonce-words which must not be overlooked.
There are some which enjoy hopeful prospects of staying in the vocabulary of the
language. The nature of these creations is such that if they appear in speech they
become noticeable and may develop into catch-words. Then they become fixed as
new colloquial coinages and cease to be nonce-words. They have acquired a new
significance and a new stylistic evaluation. They are then labelled as slang, colloquial,
vulgar or something of this kind.
Literary nonce-words, on the other hand, may retain the label nonce for ever, as, for
example, Byron's "weatherology."
Nonce-coinage appears in all spheres of life. Almost every calling has some favourite
catch-words which may live but a short time. They may become permanent and
generally accepted terms, or they may remain nonce-words, as, for example, hateships
used by John O'Hara in "Ten North Frederic."
Particularly interesting are the contextual meanings of words. They may rightly be
called nonce-meanings. They are frequently used in one context only, and no traces of
the meaning are to be found in dictionaries. Thus, the word 'opening' in the general
meaning of a way in the sentence "This was an opening and I followed it", is a
contextual meaning which may or may not in the long run become one of the
dictionary meanings.
Most of the words which we call here colloquial coinages are newly-minted words,
expressions or meanings which are labelled slang in many modern dictionaries. But
we refrain from using the term so freely as it is used in dictionaries firstly because of
its ambiguity, and secondly because we reserve it for phenomena which in Russian
are known as просторечье, i. e. city vernacular bordering on non-literary speech.

PART Ш PHONETIC EXPRESSIVE MEANS AND STYLISTIC


DEVICES
GENERAL NOTES
The stylistic approach to the utterance is not confined to its structure and sense. There
is another thing to be taken into account which, in a certain type of communication,
viz. belles-lettres, plays an important role. This is the way a word, a phrase or a
sentence sounds* The sound of most words taken separately will have little or no
aesthetic value. It is in combination with other words that a word may acquire a
desired phonetic effect. The way a separate word sounds may produce a certain
euphonic impression, but this is a matter of individual perception and feeling and
therefore subjective. For instance, a certain English writer expresses the opinion that
angina [aen'dsama], pneumonia [nju'mouma], and uvula I'ju:vjub] would make
beautiful girl's names instead of what he calls "lumps of names like Joan, Joyce and
Maud"* In the poem "Cargoes" by John Masefield he considers words like ivory,
sandal-wood, cedar-wood, emeralds and amethysts as used in the first two stanzas to
be beautiful, whereas those in the 3rd stanza "strike harshly on the earl"
"With a cargo of Tyne coal,
Road-rails, pig-lead,
Fire-wood, iron-ware and cheap tin trays.**
As one poet has it, this is ".*.a combination of words which is difficult to pronounce,
in which the words rub against one another, interfere with one another, push one
another."
Verier, a French scientist, who is a specialist on English versification, suggests that
we should try to pronounce the vowels [a:, i:, u:] in a strongly articulated manner and
with closed eyes. If we do so, he says, we are sure to come to the conclusion that each
of these sounds expresses a definite feeling or state of mind. Thus he maintains that
the sound [u:] generally expresses sorrow or seriousness; [i:] produces the feeling of
joy and so on.
L. Bloomfield, a well-known American linguist says:
"...in human speech, different sounds have different meaning. To study the
coordination of certain sounds with certain meanings is to study language."
An interesting statement in this regard is made by a Hungarian linguist, Ivan Fonagy:
"The great semantic entropy (a term from theory of communication denoting the
measure of the unknown, /.G.) of poetic language stands in contrast to the
predictability of its sounds. Of course, not even in the case of poetry can we
determine the sound of a word on the basis of its meaning. Nevertheless in the larger
units of line and stanza, a certain relationship can be found between sounds and
content." l
The Russian poet B. Pasternak says that he has
".. .always thought that the music of words is not an acoustic phenomenon and does
not consist of the euphony of vowels and consonants taken separately. It results from
the correlation of the meaning of the utterance with its sound." 2
The theory of sound symbolism is based on the assumption that separate sounds due
to their articulatory and acoustic properties may awake certain ideas, perceptions,
feelings, images, vague though they might be. Recent investigations have shown that
"it is rash to deny the existence of universal, or widespread, types of sound
symbolism." 3 In poetry we cannot help feeling that the arrangement of sounds carries
a definite aesthetic function. Poetry is not entirely divorced from music. Such notions
as harmony, euphony, rhythm and other sound phenomena undoubtedly are not
indifferent to the general effect produced by a verbal chain. Poetry, unlike prose, is
meant to be read out loud and any oral performance of a message inevitably involves
definite musical (in the broad sense of the word) interpretation.
Now let us see what phonetic SDs secure this musical function.

Onomatopoeia
Onomatopoeia is a combination of speech-sounds which aims at imitating sounds
produced in nature (wind, sea, thunder, etc), by things (machines or taols, etc), by
people (sighing, laughter, patter of feet, etc) and by animals. Combinations of speech
sounds of this type will inevitably be associated with whatever produces the natural
sound. Therefore the relation^between onomatopoeia and the phenomenon it is
supposed to represent is one of metonymy.
There are two varieties of onomatopoeia: direct and indirect
Others require the exercise of a certain amount of imagination to decipher it.
Onomatopoetic words can be used in a transferred meaning, as for instance, ding-
dong, which represents the sound of bells rung continuously, may mean 1) noisy, 2)
strenuously contested. Examples are:
a ding-dong struggle, a ding-dong go at something. In the following newspaper
headline:
DING-DONG ROW OPENS ON BILL, both meanings are implied.
Indirect onomatopoeia jL^^_cщlзiIlatjon the aim of ^hiclmkthe spuncCof the
utterance an
sense. It is sometimes called "echo-writing". An example js
'And the silken, sad, uncertain rustling of each purple curtain' (E. A. Poe),
where the repetition of the sound [s] actually produces the sound of the rustling of the
curtain.
Indirect onomatopoeia, unlike alliteration, demands some mention of what makes the
sound, as rustling (of curtains) in the line above. The same can be said of the sound
[w] if it aims at reproducing, let us say, the sound of wind. The word wind must be
mSfitioffi?37^^
"Whenever the moon and stars are set, Whenever the wind is high, All night long" in
the dark and wet A man goes riding by." (R. S. Stevenson)
Indirect onomatopoeia is sometimes very effectively used by repeating words which
themselves are not onomatopoetic, as in Poe's poem "The Bells" where the words
tinkle and bells are distributed in the following manner:
"Silver bells... how they tinkle, tinkle, tinkle" and further
"To the tintinabulation that so musically wells
From the bells, bells, bells, bells,
Bells, bells, bells —
From the jingling and the tinkling of the bells."
Alongside obviously onomatopoetic words as tinkle, tintinabulation and jingling the
word bells is drawn into the general music of the poem and begins to display
onomatopoetic properties through the repetition.
Here is another example:
"Mostly he moved in urgent, precise, clipped movements— g°> go* go — and talked
the same way — staccato sentences."
The onomatopoetic effect is achieved by the repetition of the unono-matopoetic word
'go' the pronunciation of which is prompted by the word 'clipped', suggesting short,
quick, abrupt motions. One seems even to hear the sound of his footsteps,
A skilful example of onomatopoetic effect is shown by Robert Sou-they in his poem
"How the Water Comes down at Ladore." The title of the poem reveals the purpose of
the writer. By artful combination of words ending in -ing and by the gradual increase
of the number of words in successive lines, the poet achieves the desired sound effect.
The poem is rather too long to be reproduced here, but a few lines will suffice as illus-
trations:
"And nearing and clearing,
And falling and crawling and sprawling,
And gleaming and streaming and steaming and beaming,
And in this way the water comes down at Ladore,"

Alliteration
Apt Alliteration's Artful Aid. Charles Churchill
Alliteration is a phonetic stylistic device which aims at imparting a melodic effect to
the utterance. The essence of this device lies in the repetition of similar sounds, in
particular consonant sounds, in close succession, particularly at the beginning of
successive words:
"The possessive instinct never stands still. Through florescence and feud, frosts and
fires it follows the laws of progression."
(Galsworthy)
or:
"Deep into the darkness peering, long 1 stood there wondering,
fearing, . "Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortals ever dared to dream
before." (E. A. Poe)
Alliteration, like most phonetic expressive means, does not bear any lexical or other
meaning unless we agree that a sound meaning exists as such. But even so we may
not* be able to specify clearly the character of this meaning, and the" term will
merely suggest that a certain amount of information is contained in the repetition of
sounds, as is the case with the repetition of lexical units.
However, certain sounds, if repeated, may produce an effect that can be specified.
For example, the sound [m] is frequently used by Tennyson in the poem "The Lotus
Eaters" to give a somnolent effect.
"How sweet it were,...
To lend our hearts and spirits wholly
To the music of mild-minded melancholy;
To muse and brood and live again in memory*"
Therefore alliteration is generally regarded as a musical accompaniment of the
author's idea, supporting it with some vague emotional atmosphere which each reader
interprets for himself. Thus the repetition of the sound [d] in the lines quoted from
Poe's poem "The Raven" prompts the feeling of anxiety, fear, horror, anguish or all
these feelings simultaneously.
Sometimes a competent reader, if unable to decipher the implied purpose of the
alliteration, may grow irritated if it is overdone and be ready to discard it from the
arsenal of useful stylistic devices.
An interesting example of the overuse of alliteration is given in Swinburne's
"Nephelidia" where the poet parodies his own style:
"Gaunt as the ghastliest of glimpses that gleam through the gloom of the gloaming
when ghosts go aghast."
When the choice of words depends primarily on the principle of alliteration,
exactitude of expression, and even sense may suffer. But when used sparingly and
with at least some slight inner connection with the sense of the utterance, alliteration
heightens the general aesthetic effect.
Alliteration in the English language is deeply rooted in the traditions of English
folklore. The laws of phonetic arrangement in Anglo-Saxon poetry differed greatly
from those of present-day English poetry. In Old English poetry alliteration was one
of the basic principles of verse and considered, along with rhythm, to be its main
characteristic. Each stressed meaningful word in a line had to begin with the same
sound or combination of sounds. Thus, in Beowulf:
Fyrst for 5 sewat: flota waes on у Sum, bat under Ьеогзе. Beornas searwe on stefn
stison: streamas wundon, sund wiS sande; secsas baeron on bearm nacan beorhte
froetwe..*
The repetition of the initial sounds of the stressed words in the line, as it were,
integrates the utterance into a compositional unit. Unlike rhyme in modern English
verse, the semantic function of which is to chain one line to another, alliteration in
Old English verse was used to consolidate the sense within the line, leaving the
relation between the lines rather loose. But there really is an essential resemblance
structurally between alliteration and rhyme (by the repetition of the same sound) and
also functionally (by communicating a consolidating effect). Alliteration is therefore
sometimes called initial rhyme.
The traditions of folklore are exceptionally stable and alliteration as a structural
device of Old English poems and songs has shown remarkable continuity. It is
frequently used as a well-tested means not only in verse but in emotive prose, in
newspaper headlines, in the titles of books, in proverbs and sayings, as, for example,
in the following:
Tit for tat; blind as a bat, betwixt and between; It is neck or nothing; to rob Peter to
pay Paul;
or in the titles of books:
"Sense and Sensibility" (Jane Austin); "Pride and Prejudice" (Jane Austin); "The
School for Scandal" (Sheridan); "A Book of Phrase and Fable" (Brewer).

Rhyme
Rhyme is the repetition of identical or similar terminal sound combinations of words.
Rhyming words are generally placed at a regular distance from each other. In verse
they are usually placed at the end of the corresponding lines.
Identity and particularly similarity of sound combinations may be relative. For
instance, we distinguish between full rhymes and incomplete rhymes. The full rhyme
presupposes identity of the vowel sound and the following consonant sounds in a
stressed syllable, as in might, right; needless, heedless. When there is identity of the
stressed syllable, including the initial consonant of the second syllable (in
polysyllabic words), we have exact or identical rhymes.
Incomplete rhymes present a greater variety. They can be divided into two main
groups: vowel 'rhymes and consonant rhymes. In vowel rhymes the vowels of the
syllables in corresponding words are identical, but the consonants may be different, as
in flesh— fresh—press. Consonant rhymes, on the contrary, show concordance in
consonants and disparity in vowels, as in worth—forth; tale—tool— Treble—trouble;
flung—long.
Modifications in rhyming sometimes go so far as to make one word rhyme with a
combination of words; or two or even three words rhyme with a corresponding two or
three words, as in upon her honour—won her; bottom—forgot'em—shot him. Such
rhymes are called j^jipaund,, or, broken. The peculiarity of rhymes of this type is
thartfie combination of worpTTfnade to sound like one word—a device which
inevitably gives a colloquial and sometimes a humorous touch to the utterance.
Compound rhyme may be set against what is called e у e-r h у т e, where the letters
and not the sounds are identical, as in love—prove, flood— brood, have—grave. It
follows therefor_eiJ^atfcylier^SL.compound rhyme is perceived in reading aloud,
eye-rhyme can only Ъе perceived in the written verse'
Many eye-rhymes же the result of historical changes in the vowel sounds in certain
positions. The continuity of English verse manifests itself also in retention of some
pairs of what were once rhyming words. But on the analogy of these pairs, new eye-
rhymes have been coined and the model now functions alongside ear-rhymes.
According to the way the rhymes are arranged within the stanza, certain models have
crystallized, for instance:
1. couplets —when the last words of two successive lines are rhymed. This is
commonly marked aa.
2. triple rhymes—aaa
3. cross rhymes—abab
4. framing or ring rhymes—abba
There is still another variety of rhyme which is called i n t e г n a I rhyme. The
rhyming words are placed not at the ?М§:Ж the lilies but within the line, as in:
"I bring fresh showers for the thirsting flowers." (Shelley) or:
"Once upon a midnight dreary while Г pondered weak and weary." (Рое)
Internal rhyme breaks the line into two distinct parts, at the same time more strongly
consolidating the ideas expressed in these two parts. Thus rhyme may be said tQ
possess two seemingly contradictory functions: dissevering, on the one hand, and-
consolidatin g\ on the other. As in many stylistic devices, these two functions of
rhyme are realized simultaneously in a greater or lesser degree depending on the
distribution of the rhymes. In aa rhymes the consolidating function is rather
conspicuous. In aabaab rhymes the rhyming words bb may not immediately reveal
their'consolidating function.
The dissevering function of internal rhyme makes itself felt in a distinctive pause,
which is a natural result of the longer line. This quality of internal rhyme may be
regarded as a leading one.
The distinctive function of rhyme is particularly felt when it occurs unexpectedly in
ordinary speech or in prose. The listener's attention is caught by the rhyme and he
may lose the thread of the discourse.

Rhythm
Rhythm exists in all spheres of human activity and assumes multifarious forms. It is a
mighty weapon in stirring up emotions whatever its nature or origin, whether it is
musical,- mechanical, or symmetrical, as in architecture.,
The most general definition of rhythm may be expressed as follows:
"Rhythm is a flow, movement, procedure, etc., characterized by basically regular
recurrence of elements or features, as beat, or accent, in alternation with opposite or
different elements or features" (Webster's New World Dictionary).
Rhythm can be perceived only provided that there is some kind of experience in
catching the opposite elements or features in their correlation, and, what is of
paramount importance, experience in catching the regularity of alternating patterns.
Rhythm is primarily ^periodicity, which requires specification as to the type of
periodicity. According to some investigations, rhythmical periodicity in verse "re-
quires intervals of about three quarters of a second between successive peaks of
periods." * It is a deliberate arrangement of speech into regularly recurring units
intended to be grasped as a definite periodicity which makes rhythm a stylistic device.
Rhythm, therefore, is the main factor which brings order into the utterance. The
influence of the rhythm on the semantic aspect of the
utterance is now being carefully investigated and it becomes apparent that orderly
phonetic arrangement of the utterance calls forth orderly syntactical structures which,
in their turn, suggest an orderly segmenting of the sense-groups. The conscious
perception of rhythms must be j acquired by training, as must the perception of any
stylistic device. Some people are said to. be completely deaf to rhythm and whatever
efforts are exerted to develop this sense in them inevitably fail. But this is not true. A
person may not be able to produce a flow of rhythmical units, but he can certainly
acquire a feeling for rhythm if he trains his ear.
Rhythm in language necessarily demands oppositions that alternate: long, short;
stressed, unstressed; high, low; and other contrasting segments of speech. Some
theoreticians maintain that rhythm can only be perceived if there are occasional
deviations from the regularity of alternations. In this connection De Groot writes:
"It is very strange indeed that deviations from the theme (i.e. the accepted kind of
periodicity, I. G.) in separate lines (called irregularities of the line) have been looked
upon as deficiencies of the poem by such eminent scholars as Jespersen and
Heusseler. On the contrary, they are indispensable, and have both a formal and
expressive function. Harmony is not only a matter of similarity, but also of
dissimilarity, and in good poetry, irregularities of lines are among the most important
features of the poem both in their formal and their expressive functions. Actually, the
beauty of a poem is less dependent upon the regularities than upon the irregularities of
the poem." x
Academician V. M. Zirmunsky suggests that the concept of rhythm should be
distinguished from that of metre. M e t r e is any form of periodicity in verse, its kind
being determined by the character and number of syllables of which it consists. The
metre is an ideal phenomenon characterized by its strict regularity, consistency and
unchangeability.2 Rhythm is flexible and sometimes an effort is required to perceive
it. In classical verse it is perceived at the background of the metre. In accented verse
—by the number of stresses in a line. In prose—by the alternation of similar
syntactical patterns. He gives the following definition of verse rhythm. It is "the actual
alternation of stress which appears as a result of interaction between the ideal metrical
law and the natural phonetic properties of the given .language material." 3 He holds
the view that romantic poetry regards metrical forms as a conventional tradition,
which hinders the vigorous individual creativity of the poet and narrows the potential
variety of poetic material.
This trend in literature justifies all kinds of deviations from the metrical scheme as
well as the dissimilarity of stanzas; it favours enjambment (see p. 257) because it
violates the monotonous concurrence of the rhythmical and syntactical units of the
metrical system; it makes ample use of imperfect rhymes, inasmuch as they violate
the trivial exactness of sound correspondence. It follows then that the concept of
rhythm should not be identified with that of metre, the latter, be it repeated, appearing
only in' classical verse as an ideal form, an invariant of the given scheme of
alternation. However, the deviations (the variants) must not go so far as to obscure the
consciously perceived ideal scheme. As has been pointed out before, stylistic effect
can only be achieved if there is a clear-cut dichotomy of the constituent elements. In
the present case the dichotomy is perceived in the simultaneous materialization of the
orthodox and free patterns of metrical alternation. J. Middleton Murry states:
"In order that rhythmic effects should be successful they must be differentiated with
certainty; and to manage contrasts of rhythm—without contrast there is no
differentiation—with so much subtlety that they will remain subordinate to the in-
tellectual suggestion of the words, is the most delicate work imaginable."г
In his notes on Shakespeare's plays our Russian poet B. Pasternak expressed the same
idea in the following words:
"...The metre (that of blank verse, /. G.) is not made conspicuous. This is not a
recitation. The form with its self-admiration does not overshadow the content, which
is infathomable and chaste. It is an example of sublime poetry which in its finest
examples has always the simplicity and freshness of prose." 2
V. Mayakovsky framed this idea in poetic form. "Rhythm", he writes, "is the
foundation of every poetic work, and passes through it like a clamour." And further,
"I get my metre by covering this clamour with words."3 The Russian poet A. Blok
said that the poet is not one who writes verses, but the bearer of rhythm.
Verse did not become entirely divorced from music when it began to live as an
independent form of art. As is known, verse has its origin in song; but still the musical
element has never been lost; it has'assumed a new form of existence—rhythm.
It follows then that rhythm is not a mere addition to verse or emotive prose, which
also has its rhythm, and it must not be regarded as possessing "phonetic autonomy
amounting to an 'irrelevant texture', but has a meaning."4 This point of view is now
gaining ground. Many attempts have been made to ascribe meaning to rhythm and
even to specify different meanings to different types of metre. This is important,
inasmuch as it contributes to the now-prevailing idea that any form must make some
contribution to the general sense. Rhythm intensifies the emotions. It also specifies
emotions. Some students of rhythm go so far as to declare that "...one obvious agency
for the expression
of his (a poet's) attitude is surely metre" l and that "...the poet's attitude toward his
reader is reflected in his manipulation—sometimes his disregard—of metre." 2
So divergence from the ideal metrical scheme is an inherent quality of rhythm in
verse. 3. The range of divergence must, however, have its limits. Deviations from the
metrical theme are free within the given frame of variation, but they cannot go beyond
that frame lest the rhythmical pattern should be destroyed. Permissible deviations
from the given metre are called modifications of the rhythmical pattern. Some of them
occur so frequently in classical verse that they become, as it were, constituents of the
rhythm.
"If violations of the metre take root," writes R. Jakobson, "they themselves become
rules..." and further,
"...these are allowed oscillations, departures within the limits of the law. In British
parliamentary terms, it is not an opposition to its majesty the metre, but an opposition
of its majesty." 4
It has already been pointed out that if rhythm is to be a stylistic category, one thing is
required—the simultaneous "perception of. two contrasting phenomena, a kind of
dichotomy. Therefore rhythm in verse as an SD is defined as a combination of the
ideal metrical scheme and the variations of it, variations which are governed by the
standard.5 There are, however, certain cases in verse where no departures are allowed
and the rhythm strikes the ear with its strict regularity. These are cases where the
rhythm contributes to the sense. Thus in Robert Southey's "How the Water Comes
Down at Ladore" (see p. 126) the rhythm itself is meant to interpret the monotonous
roar of the waterfall; or in Edward Lear's poem "The Nutcrackers and the Sugar-
tongs" where the rhythm reproduces the beat of galloping horses' feet, or in march
rhythm where the beat of th^ lines suggests a musical foundation. In short, wherever
there is a recognizable semantic function of the rhythm few, if any, deviations are
evident.
Rhythm reveals itself most conspicuously in music, dance and verse. We have so far
dealt with verse because the properties of rhythm in language are most observable in
this mode of communication.. We shall now proceed to the analysis of rhythm in
prose, bearing in mind that the essential properties of prose rhythm are governed by
the same general rules, though not so apparent, perhaps, as in verse, and falling under
different parameters of analysis.
Much has been said and written about rhythm in prose. Some investigators, in
attempting to find rhythmical patterns of prose, super -
5 Cf. J. A. Richard's statement that "The ear ... grows tired of strict regularity, - but
delights in recognizing behind the variations the standard that still governs them"
(Practical Criticism, p. 227).
impose metrical measures on prose and regard instances which do not fall under the
suggested metrical scheme as variants. But the parameters of the rhythm in verse and
in prose are entirely different. R. Jakobson states: "... any metre uses the syllable as a-
unit of measure at least in certain sections of the verse." x The unit of measure in
prose, however, is not the syllable but a structure, a word-combination, a sequence of
words, that is, phrases, clauses, sentences, even supra-phrasal units.2 The structural
pattern, which in the particular case is the rhythmical unit, will be repeated within the
given span of prose. The rhythm will be based not on the regular alternation of
opposing units, i.e. a regular beat, but on the repetition of similar structural units
following one another or repeated after short intervals. The peculiar property of prose
rhythm, particularly in 20th century prose, is that it occurs only in relatively short
spans of text, and that it constantly changes its patterns and may suddenly drop to a
normal, almost unapparent rhythmical design or to no rhythm at all.
It must be made clear that metrical or accented rhythm, which is an internal and
indispensable property of verse, is incidental in prose, which in its very essence is
arhythmical. A prose passage interpolated into a work written in verse, a device so
favoured by some poets, has its significance in the acute opposition of the two modes
of expression: rhythmical versus arhythmical.
The most observable rhythmical patterns in prose are based on the use of certain
stylistic syntactical devices, namely, enumeration, repetition, parallel construction (in
particular, balance) and chiasmus. The beginning of Dickens's "A Tale of Two Cities"
(see p. 223) may serve as an illustration of prose rhythm. Here the rhythm is easily
discernible.
In the following passage it is more difficult to catch the rhythm, though when the
passage is read aloud, the rhythm is clear.
"The high-sloping roof, of a fine sooty pink was almost Danish, and two 'ducky* little
windows looked out of it, giving an impression that very tall servants lived up there."
(Galsworthy)
Here the rhythmical pattern of the utterance is almost imperceptible to an untrained
ear, but will clearly be felt by one with rhythmical experience. The paired attributes
high-sloping, fine sooty, ducky little and likewise the attribute with an adverbial
modifier very tall are all structurally similar word-combinations and therefore create
the rhythm.
As a good example of oscillating prose rhythm hardly dissectable into rhythmical
units is the following excerpt from Somerset Maugham's "The Painted Veil":
"Walter, I beseech you to forgive me," she said, leaning over him. For fear that he
could not bear the pressure she took care not to touch him. "I'm so desperately sorry
for the wrong I did you. I so bitterly regret it."
He said nothing. He did not seem to hear. She was obliged to insist. It seemed to her
strangely that his soul was a fluttering moth and its wings were heavy with hatred.
"Darling."
A shadow passed over his wan and sunken face. It was less than a movement, and yet
it gave all the effect of a terrifying convulsion. She had never used that word to him
before. Perhaps in his dying brain there passed the thought, confused and difficultly
grasped, that he had only heard her use it, a commonplace of her vocabulary, to dogs,
and babies and motorcars. Then something horrible occurred. She clenched her hands,
trying with all her might to control herself, for she saw two tears run slowly down his
wasted cheeks.
"Oh, my precious, my dear, if you ever loved me—I know you loved me and I was
hateful—I beg you to forgive me. I've no chance now to show my repentance. Have
mercy on me. I beseech you to forgive."
She stopped. She looked at him, all breathless, waiting passionately for a reply. She
saw that he tried to speak. Her heart gave a great bound."
The long passage is necessary in order that the fluctuating, rhythmical pattern of both
the author's and the character's speech might be observed. The most obvious
rhythmical unit here is the structural similarity of the sentences. The overwhelming
majority of the sentences are short, simple, almost unextended, resembling each other
in structural design:—'He said nothing', 'He did not seem to hear', 'She was obliged to
insist', 'A shadow passed over his wan and sunken face', 'She had never used that
word to him before', 'She saw that he tried to speak', 'Her heart gave a great bound'.
Likewise the character's speech is marked by the same feature— the sentences are
short, simple, resembling each other in their structural design:— 'Walter, I beseech
you to forgive me', 'I beg you to forgive me', 'I've no chance now to show my
repentance', 'I beseech you to forgive' and earlier 'I'm so desperately sorry... I so
bitterly regret it.'
But it is not only the repetition of the structural design of the sentences that makes the
rhythrri: there are other elements contributing to it. With the increatsevof emqtional
tension the author almost slips into the iambic rhythm of blank verse. Dramatic
feeling demands regular rhythm. As the emotion becomes tenser, the rhythmical beat
and cadence of the words becomes more evident. Mark the sentence which begins
with 'Perhaps in his dying brain....' Here a kind of metrical rhythm can easily be
discerned—
"there passed the thought confused and w .1 | ^ -L | w -L | ^
difficultly gras
that he had only heard her use it, ...
and so it goes on until the phrase "then something horrible occurred." Of course this
inter-correlation of the rhythmical units in the passage is open to discussion. There
may be various delivery instances. In this connection R. Jakobson says that "a
variation of verse instances within a given poem must be strictly distinguished from
the variable delivery instances." l
Indeed, almost any piece of prose, though in essence arhythmical, can be made
rhythmical by isolating words or sequences of words and making appropriate pauses
between each. In order to distinguish the variable delivery instances of an utterance
from its inherent structural and semantic properties, it is necessary to subject the text
to a thorough analysis of the correlated component parts. The short survey of the
passage above shows that the prose rhythm is interspersed with-genuine metrical
rhythm not devoid, of course, of the modifications which make the verse rhythm less
conspicuous.
A very good example of prose rhythm can be seen in the chapter from Galsworthy's
"Man of Property" entitled 'June's Treat' a passage from which is given later (see p.
266).
It must be noted that the irruption of prose into a metrical pattern is generally
perceived as annihilation of rhythm, whereas the introduction of metrical pattern into
prose aims at consolidating the already vaguely perceived rhythm of the utterance.
Prose rhythm, unlike verse rhythm, lacks consistency, as it follows various principles.
But nevertheless a trained ear will always detect a kind of alternation of syntactical
units. The task is then to find these units and to ascertain the manner of alternation.
This is not an easy task because, as has already been pointed out, rhythm is not an
essential property of prose, whereas it is essential in verse. Prose is the opposite of
verse and this opposition is primarily structural, in this case, rhythmical structure
versus, arhythmical structure. The incursion of prose into poetry is a deliberate device
to break away from its strict rhythm.

PART IV LEXICAL EXPRESSIVE MEANS AND STYLISTIC


DEVICES
A. INTENTIONAL MIXING OF THE STYLISTIC ASPECT OF WORDS
Heterogeneity of the component parts of the utterance is the basis for a stylistic device
called b a th о s. Unrelated elements are brought together as if they denoted things
equal in rank or belonging to one class, as if they were of the same stylistic aspect. By
being forcibly linked together, the elements acquire a slight modification of meaning.
"Sooner shall heaven kiss earth—(here he fell sicker)
Oh, Julia! what is every other woe?— (For God's sake let me have a glass of liquor;
Pedro, Battista, help me down below) Julia, my love!—(you rascal, Pedro, quicker)—
Oh, Julia!—(this curst vessel pitches so)— Beloved Julia, hear me still beseeching!"
(Here he grew inarticulate with retching.)
Such poetic expressions as 'heaven kiss earth', 'what is every other woe'; 'beloved
Julia, Цеаг me still beseeching' are joined in one flow of utterance with colloquial
expressions—'For God's .sake; you rascal; help me down below', 'this eurst vessel
pitches so'. This produces an effect which serves the purpose of lowering the loftiness
of expression, inasmuch as there is a sudden drop from the elevated to the
commonplace or even the ridiculous.
As is seen from this example, it is not so easy to distinguish whether the device is
more linguistic,or more logical. But the logical and linguistic are closely interwoven
in problems of stylistics. Another example iЈ the following—
"But oh? ambrosial cashl Ah! who would lose thee? When we no more can use, or
even abuse thee!"
("Don Juan")
Ambrosial is a poetic word meaning 'delicious', 'fragrant', /divine*. 'Cash is a common
colloquial word meaning 'money', 'money that a person actually has', 'ready money'.
Whenever literary words come into collision with non-literary ones there arises
incongruity, which in any style is always deliberate, inasmuch as a style presupposes
a conscious selection of language means,
136
The following sentence from Dickens's "A Christmas Carol" illustrates with what skill
the author combines elevated words and phrases and common colloquial ones in order
to achieve the desired impact on the reader — it being the combination of the
supernatural and the ordinary.
"But the wisdom of our ancestors is in the simile; and my unhallowed hands shall not
disturb it, or the Country's done for."
The elevated ancestors, simile, unhallowed, disturb (in the now obsolete meaning of
tear to pieces) are put alongside the colloquial contraction the Country's (the country
is) and the colloquial done for.
This device is a very subtle one and not always discernible even to
an experienced literary critic, to say nothing of the rank-and-file read-
er. The difficulty lies first of all in the inability of the inexperienced
reader to perceive the incongruity of the component parts of the utterance.
Byron often uses bathos, for example,
"They grieved for those who perished with the cutter And also for the biscuit-casks
and butter."
^ copulative conjunction and as well as the adverb also suggest the homogeneity of
the concepts those wfio perished and biscuit-casks and butter. The people who
perished are placed on the same level as the biscuits and butter lost at the same time.
This arrangement may lead to at least two inferences:
1) for the survivors the loss of food was as tragic as the loss of friends who perished
in the shipwreck;
2) the loss of food was even more disastrous, hence the elevated grieved ... for food.
It must be born in mind, however, that this interpretation of the subtle stylistic device
employed here is prompted by purely linguistic analysis: the verbs to grieve and to
perish, which are elevated in connotation, are more appropriate when used to refer to
people — and are out of place when used to refer to food. The eyery-day-life- cares
and worries overshadow the grief for the dead, or at least are put on the same level.
The verb to grieve, when used In reference to both the people who perished and the
food which was lost, weakens, as it were, the effect of the first and strengthens the
effect of the second.
The implications and inferences drawn from a detailed and meticulous analysis of
language, means and, stylistic devices can draw additional information from the
communication. This kind of implied meaning is derived not directly from the words
but from a much finer analysis called supralinear or sup raseg mental.
Almost of the same kind are the following lines, also fram Byron:
"Let us have wine and women, mirth and laughter, Sermons and soda-water — the
day after."
Again we have incongruity of concepts caused by the heterogeneity of the
conventionally paired classes of things in the first line and the alliterated
unconventional pair in the second line. It needs no proof
that the words sermons and soda-water are used metonymically here signifying
'repentance' and 'sickness' correspondingly. The decoded form of this utterance will
thus be: "Let us now enjoy ourselves in spite of consequences." But the most
significant item in the linguistic analysis here will, of course, be the identical formal
structure of the pairs 1. wine and women; 2. mirth and laughter and 3. sermons and
soda-water. The second pair consists of words so closely related that they may be
considered almost synonymous. This affects the last pair and makes the words
sermons and soda-water sound as if they were as closely related as the words in the
first two pairs. A deeper insight into the author's intention may lead the reader to
interpret them as a tedious but unavoidable remedy for the sins committed.
Byron especially favours the device of bathos in his "Don Juan." Almost every stanza
contains ordinarily unconnected concepts linked together by a coordinating
conjunction and producing a mocking effect or a realistic approach to those
phenomena of life which imperatively demand recognition, no matter how elevated
the subject-matter may be.
Here are other illustrations from this epoch-making poem:
"heaviness of heart or rather stomach;"
"There's nought, no doubt, so much the spirit calms
As rum and true religion"
"...his tutor and his spaniel"
"who loved philosophy and a good dinner"
"I cried upon my first wife's dying day And also when my second ran away"
We have already pointed out the peculiarity of the device, that it is half linguistic, half
logical. But the linguistic side becomes especially conspicuous when there is a
combination of stylistically heterogeneous words and phrases. Indeed, the
juxtaposition of highly literary norms of expression and words or phrases that must be
classed as non-literary, sometimes low colloquial or even vulgar, will again
undoubtedly produce a stylistic effect, and when decoded, will contribute to the
content of the utterance, often adding an element of humour. Thus, for instance, the
following from Somerset Maugham's "The Hour before Dawn": ^ v
"'Will you oblige me by keeping your trap shut, darling?' he retorted."
The device is frequently presented in the structural model which we shall call
heterogeneous enumeration (see p. 216).

B. INTERACTION OF DIFFERENT TYPES OF LEXICAL MEANING


Words in context, as has been pointed out, may acquire additional lexical meanings
not fixed in dictionaries, what we have called contextual meanings. The latter may
sometimes deviate from the
138
dictionary meaning to such a degree that the new meaning even becomes the opposite
of the primary meaning, as, for example, with the word sophisticated (see p. 121).
This is especially the case when we deal with transferred meanings.
What is known in linguistics as transferred meaning is practically the interrelation
between two types of lexical meaning: dictionary and contextual. The contextual
meaning will always depend on the dictionary (logical) meaning to a greater or lesser
extent. When the deviation from the acknowledged meaning is carried to a degree that
it causes an unexpected turn in the recognized logical meanings, we register a stylistic
device.
The transferred meaning of a word may be fixed in dictionaries as a result of long and
frequent use of the word other than in its primary meaning. In this case we register a
derivative meaning of the word. The term 'transferred' points to the process of
formation of the derivative meaning. Hence the term 'transferred' should be used, to
our mind, as a lexicographical term signifying diachronically the development of the
semantic structure of the word. In this case we do not perceive two meanings.
When, however, we perceive two meanings of a word simultaneously, we are
confronted with a stylistic device in which the two meanings interact.
1. INTERACTION OF PRIMARY DICTIONARY AND CONTEXTUALLY IMPOSED
MEANINGS
The interaction or interplay between the primary dictionary meaning (the meaning
which is registered in the language code as an easily recognized sign for an abstract
notion designating a certain phenomenon or object) and a meaning which is imposed
on the word by a micro-context may be maintained along different lines. One line is
when the author identifies two objects which have nothing in common, but in which
he subjectively sees a function, or a property, or a feature, or a quality that may make
the reader perceive these two objects as identical. Another line is when the author
finds it possible to substitute one object for another on the grounds that there is some
kind of interdependence or interrelation between the two corresponding objects. A
third line is when a certain property or quality of an object is used in an opposite.or
contradictory sense.
The stylistic device based on the principle of identification of two objects is called a
metaphor. The SD based on the principle of substitution of one object for another is
called metonymy and the SD based on contrary concepts is called irony.
Let us now proceed with a detailed analysis of the ontology, structure and functions of
these stylistic devices.

Metaphor
The term 'metaphor', as the etymology of the word reveals, means transference of
some quality from one object to another. From the times of ancient Greek and Roman
rhetoric, the term has been known to denote
the transference of meaning from one word to another. It is still widely used to
designate the process in which a word acquires a derivative meaning. Quintilian
remarks: "It is due to the metaphor that each thing seems to have its name in
language." Language as a whole has been figuratively defined as a dictionary of faded
metaphors.
Thus by transference of meaning the words grasp, get and see come to have the
derivative meaning of understand. When these words are used with that meaning we
can only register the derivative meaning existing in the semantic structures of the
words. Though the derivative meaning is metaphorical in origin, there is no stylistic
effect because the primary meaning is no longer felt.
A metaphor becomes a stylistic device when two different phenomena (things, events,
ideas, actions) are simultaneously brought to mind by the imposition of some or all of
the inherent properties of one object on the other which by nature is deprived of these
properties. Such an imposition generally results when the creator of the metaphor
finds in the two corresponding objects certain features which to his eye have some-
thing in common.
The idea that metaphor is based on similarity or affinity of two (corresponding)
objects or notions is, as I understand it, erroneous. The two objects are identified and
the fact that a common feature is pointed to and made prominent does not make them
similar. The notion of similarity can be carried on ad absurdum, for example, animals
and human beings move, breathe, eat, etc. but if one of these features, i.e. movement,
breathing, is pointed to in animals and at the same time in human beings, the two
objects will not necessarily cause the notion of affinity.
Identification should not be equated to resemblance. Thus in the following metaphor:
"Dear Nature is the kindest Mother still" (Byron) the notion Mother arouses in the
mind the actions of nursing, weaning, caring for, etc., whereas the notion Nature does
not. There is no true similarity, but there is a kind of identification, Therefore it is
better to define metaphor as the power of realizing two lexical meanings
simultaneously.
Due to this power metaphor is one of the most potent means of creating images. An
image is a sensory perception of an abstract notion already existing in the mind.
Consequently, to create an image means to bring a phenomenon from the highly
abstract to the essentially concrete. Thus the example given above where the two
concepts Mother and Nature are brought-together in the irtterplay^of their meanings,
brings up the image of Nature materialized into but not likened to the image of
Mother. The identification is most clearly observed when the metaphor is embodied
either in an attributive word, as in pearly teeth, voiceless sounds, or in a predicative
word-combination, as in the example with Nature and Mother.
But the identification of different movements will not be so easily perceived because
there is no explanatory unit. Let us look at this
sentence:
"In the slanting beams that streamed through the open window the dust danced and
was golden," (O, Wilde)
The movement of dust particles seem to the eye of the writer to be regular and orderly
like the movements in dancing. What happens practically is that our mind runs in two
parallel lines: the abstract and the concrete, i.e. movement (of any kind) and dancing
(a definite kind).
Sometimes the process of identification can hardly.be decoded. Here is a metaphor
embodied in an adverb:
"The leaves fell sorrowfully."
The movement of falling leaves is probably identified with the movement of a human
being experiencing some kind of distress—people swing their bodies or heads to and
fro when in this state of mind. One can hardly perceive any similarity in the two kinds
of movements which are by the force of the writer's imagination identified.
Generally speaking, one feature out of the multitude of features of an object found in
common with a feature of another object will not produce resemblance. This idea is
worded best of all in Wordsworth's famous lines:
"To find affinities in objects in which no brotherhood exists to passive minds."
Here is a recognition of the unlimited power of the poet in finding common features
in heterogeneous objects.
Metaphorization can also be described as an attempt to be precise, as J. Middleton
Murry thinks. But this precision is of an emotional and aesthetic character and not
logical. This is what Middleton Murry writes:
"Try to be precise and you are bound to be metaphorical; you simply cannot help
establishing affinities between all the provinces of the animate and inanimate world."
г
Metaphors, like all stylistic devices, can be classified according to their degree of
unexpectedness. Thus metaphors which are absolutely unexpected, i.e. are quite
unpredictable, are called genuine metaphors. Those which are commonly used in
speech and therefore are .sometimes even fixed in dictionaries as expressive means of
language are trite metaphors, or dead metaphors. Their predictability therefore is
apparent Genuine metaphors are regarded as belonging to language-in-action, i. e.
speech metaphors; trite metaphors belong to the language-as-a-system, i.e. language
proper, and are usually fixed in dictionaries as units of the language.
V. V. Vinogradov states:
"...a metaphor, if it is not a cliche , is an act of establishing an individual world
outlook, it is an act of subjective isolation... Therefore .a word metaphor is narrow,
subjectively enclosed, ...it imposes on the reader a subjective view of the object or
phenomenon and its semantic ties."
The examples given above may serve as illustrations of genuine metaphors. Here are
some examples of metaphors that are considered trite. They are time-worn and well
rubbed into the language: *a ray of hope', 'floods of tears', 'a storm of indignation', 'a
flight of fancy', *a gleam of mirth', *a shadow of a smile' and the like.
The interaction of the logical dictionary meaning and the logical contextual meaning
assumes different forms. Sometimes this interaction is perceived as a deliberate
interplay of the two meanings. In this case each of the meanings preserves its relative
independence. Sometimes, however, the metaphoric use of a word begins to affect the
source meaning, i.e. the meaning from which the metaphor is derived, with the result
that the target meaning, that is, the metaphor itself, takes the upper hand and may
even oust the source meaning. In this case, we speak of dead metaphors.
In such words as to melt (away), as in "these misgivings gradually melted away" we
can still recognize remnants of the origin,al meaning and in spite of the fact that the
meaning 4o vanish', 4o disappear' is already fixed in dictionaries as one of the
derivative meanings, the primary meaning still, makes itself felt.
Trite metaphors are sometimes injected with new vigour, i.e. their primary meaning is
re-established alongside the new (derivative) meaning. This is done by supplying the
central image created by the metaphor with additional words bearing some reference
to the main word. For example: "Mr. Pickwick bottled up his vengeance and corked it
down." The verb to bottle up is explained in dictionaries as follows: 4o keep in check'
("Penguin Dictionary"); 4o conceal, to restrain, repress' ("Gas-sell's New English
Dictionary"). The metaphor in the word can hardly be felt. But it is revived by the
direct meaning of the verb to cork down. This context refreshes the almost dead
metaphor and gives it a second life. Such metaphors are called sustained or p г о l о п
ge d. Here is another example of a-sustained metaphor:
"Mr. Dombey's cup^ol satisfaction was so full at this moment, however, that he felt he
could afford a drop or two of its contents, even to sprinkle on the dust in the by-path
of his little daughter." (Dickens, "Dombey and Son")
We may call the principal metaphor the central image of the sustained metaphor- and
the other words which bear reference to the central image—contributory images. Thus
in the example given the word cup (of satisfaction) being a trite metaphor is revived
by the following contributory images: full, drop, contents, sprinkle. It is interesting to
note that the words conveying both the central image (the cup) and the contributory
images are used in two senses simultaneously: direct and indirect. The second plane
of utterance is maintained by the key word—^satisfaction. It is this word that helps us
to decipher the idea behind the sustained metaphor, ,
Sometimes, however, the central image is not given, but the string of words all
bearing upon some implied central point of reference are so associated with each
other that the reader is bound to create the re
quired image in his mind. Let us take the following sentence from Shakespeare:
"I have no spur to prick the sides of my intent." The words spur, to prick, the sides in
their interrelation will inevitably create the image of a steed, with which the speaker's
intent is identified. -
The same is to be seen in the following lines from Shelley's "Cloud": *
"In a cavern under is fettered the thunder, It struggles and howls at fits."
Here the central image—that of a captive beast—is suggested by the contributory
images—fettered, struggles and howls.
The metaphor is often defined as a compressed simile. But this definition lacks
precision. Moreover, it is misleading, inasmuch as the metaphor aims at identifying
the objects, while the simile aims at finding some point of resemblance by keeping the
objects apart. That is why these two stylistic devices are viewed as belonging to two
different groups of SDs. They are different in their linguistic nature.
True, the degree of identification of objects or phenomena in a metaphor varies
according to its syntactic function in the sentence and to the part of speech in which it
is embodied.
Indeed, in the sentence 'Expression is the dress of thought' we can hardly see any
process of identification between the concepts expression and dress, whereas in the
lines
"Yet Time, who changes all, had altered him In soul and aspect as in age: years steal
Fire from the mind as vigour from the limb; And Life's enchanted cup but sparkles
near the brim.
(Byron, "Childe Harold")
The metaphors steal, fire, cup, brim embodied in verbs and nouns not used
predicatively can be regarded as fully identified with the concepts they aim at
producing. . - /
Genuine metaphors are mostly to be found in poetry and emotive prose. Trite
metaphors are generally used as expressive means in newspaper articles, in oratorical
style and even in scientific language. The use of trite metaphors should not be
regarded as a drawback of style. They help the writer to enliven his work and even
make the meaning more concrete.
There is constant interaction between genuine and trite metaphors. Genuine
metaphors, if they are good and can stand the test of time, may, through frequent
repetition, become trite and consequently easily predictable. Trite metaphors, as has
been shown, may regain their freshness through the process of prolongation of the
metaphor.
Metaphors may be sustained not only on the basis of a trite metaphor. The initial
metaphor may be genuine and may also be developed through a number of
contributory images so that the whole of the utterance becomes one sustained
metaphor. A skilfully written example of such a metaphor is to be found in
Shakespeare's Sonnet No. 24.
Mine eye hath play'd the painter and hath stell'd
Thy beauty's form in table of my heart;
My body is the frame wherein 'tis held,
And perspective it is best painter's art.
For through the painter must you see his skill,
To find where your true image pictured lies;
Which in my bosom's shop is hanging still,
That hath his windows glazed with thine eyes.
Now see what good turns eyes for eyes have done:
Mine eyes have drawn thy shape, and thine for me
Are windows to my breast, where-through the sun
Delights to peep, to gaze therein on thee;
Yet eyes this cunning want to grace their art, They draw but what they see, know not
the heart.
The central image—'The eye—the painter' is developed through a number of
contributory images: to draw, to stell, table, frame, hanging (picture) and the like.
In conclusion it would be of interest to show the results of the interaction between the
dictionary and contextual meanings.
The constant use of a metaphor gradually leads to the breaking up of the primary
meaning. The metaphoric use of the word begins to affect the dictionary meaning,
adding to it fresh connotations or shades of meaning. But this influence, however
strong it may be, will never reach the degree where the dictionary meaning entirely
disappears. If it did, we should have no stylistic device. It is a law of stylistics that in
a stylistic device the stability of the dictionary meaning is always retained, no matter
h9w great the influence of the contextual meaning may be.

Metonymy

Metonymy is based on a different type of relation between the dictionary and


contextual meanings, a relation based not on identification, but on some kind of
association connecting the two concepts which these meanings represent.
Thus, the word crown may stand for 'king or queen', cup or glass for 'the drink it
contains', woolsack for 'the Chancellor of the Exchequer who sits on it, OJT the
position and dignity of the Lord Chancellor*, e. g., "Here the noble lord inclined his
knee to the Woolsack." (from Hansard).
Here also the interrelation between the dictionary and contextual meanings should
stand out clearly and conspicuously. Only then can we state that a stylistic device is
used. Otherwise we must turn our mind to lexicological problems, i.e. to the ways and
means by which new words and meanings are coined. The examples of metonymy
given above are traditional. In fact they are derivative logical meanings and therefore
fixed in dictionaries. However, when such meanings are included in dictionaries,
there is usually a label fig ('figurative use'). This shows that the new meaning has not
replaced the primary one, but, as it were, co-exists with it.
Still the new meaning has become so common, that it is easily predictable and
therefore does not bear any additional information, which is an indispensable
condition for an SD.
Here are some more widely used metonymical meanings, some of which are already
fixed in dictionaries without the label fig: the press for '(the personnel -connected
with) a printing or publishing establishment', or for 'the newspaper and periodical
literature which is printed by the printing press'. The bench is used as a generic term
for 'magistrates and justices'. A hand is used for a worker, the cradle stands for
infancy, earliest stages, place of origin, and the grave stands for death.
Metonymy used in language-in-action, i.e. contextual metonymy, is genuine
metonymy and reveals a quite unexpected substitution of one word for another, or one
concept for another, on the ground of some strong impression produced by a chance
feature of the thing, for example:
"Miss Tox's hand trembled as she slipped it through Mr. Dombey's arm, and felt
herself escorted up the steps, preceded by ajzocked hat and a Babylonian collar."
(Dickens) 'A cocked hat and a Babylonian collar' stand for the wearer of the articles in
question. One can hardly admit that there is a special characterizing function in such a
substitution. The function of these examples of genuine metonymy is more likely to
point out the insignificance of the wearer rather than his importance, for his
personality is reduced to his externally conspicuous features, the hat and red collar.
Here is another example of genuine metony'my:
"Then they came in. Two of them, a man with long fair moustaches and a silent dark
man... Definitely, the moustache and I had nothing in common." (Doris Lessing,
"Retreat to Innocence")
Again we have a feature of a man which catches the eye, in this case his facial
appearance: the moustache stands for the man himself. The function of the metonymy
here is to indicate that the speaker knows nothing of the man in question, moreover,
there.is a definite implication that this is the first time the speaker has seen him.
Here is another example of the same kind:
"There was something so very agreeable in being so intimate with such a waistcoat',
in being on such off-hand terms so soon with such a pair of whiskers that Tom was
uncommonly pleased with himself." (Dickens, "Hard Times")
In these two cases of genuine metonymy a broader context than that required by a
metaphor is necessary in order to decipher the true meaning of the stylistic device. In
both cases it is necessary to understand the words in their proper meanings first. Only
then is it possible to grasp the metonymy.
In the following example the metonymy 'grape" also requires a broad context:
"And this is stronger than the strongest grape Could e'er express in its expanded,
shape." (Byron)
Metonymy and metaphor differ also in the way they are deciphered. In the process of
disclosing the meaning implied in a metaphor, one image excludes the other, that is,
the metaphor 'lamp' in the 'The sky lamp of the night', when deciphered, means the
moon, and though there is a definite interplay of meanings, we perceive only one
object, the moon. This is not the case with metonymy. Metonymy, while presenting
one object to our mind, does not exclude the other. In the example given above the
moustache and the man himself are both perceived by the mind.
Many attempts have been made to pin-point the types of relation which metonymy is
based on. Among them the following are most common:
1. A concrete thing used instead of an abstract notion. In this case the thing becomes a
symbol of the notion, as in "The camp, the pulpit and the law For rich men's sons are
free." (Shelley)
" 2. The container instead of the thing contained: • The hall applauded.
3. The relation of proximity, as in:
"The round game table was boisterous and happy." (Dickens)
4. The material instead of the thing made of it, as in: "The marble spoke." ,
-
5. The instrument which the doer uses in performing the action instead of the action
or the doer himself, as in:
"Well, Mr. Weller, says the gentPmn, you're a very good whip, and can do what you
like with your horses, we know." (Dickens)
"As the sword is the worst argument that can be used, so should it be the last."
(Byron)
The list is4n no way complete. There are many other types of relations which may
serve as a basis for metonymy.
It must also be noted that metonymy, being a means of building up imagery, generally
'concerns concrete objects, which are generalized. The process of generalization is
easily carried out with the help of the I definite article. Therefore instances of
metonymy are very often used with the definite article, or with no article at all, as in
"There was perfect sympathy between Pulpit and Pew", where 'Pulpit' stands for the
clergyman and 'Pew' for the congregation.
This is probably due to the fact 4hat any definition of a word may be taken for
metonymy, inasmuch -as it shows a property or an essential quality of the concept,
thus disclosing a kind of relation between the thing as a whole and a feature of it
which may be regarded as part of it.

Irony

Irony is a stylistic device also based on the simultaneous realization of two logical
meanings—dictionary and contextual, but the two meanings stand in opposition to
each other. For example:
"It must be delightful to find oneself in a foreign country without a penny in one's
pocket."
The italicized word acquires a meaning quite the opposite to its primary dictionary
meaning, that is, 'unpleasant', 'not delightful'. The word containing the irony is
strongly marked by intonation. It has an emphatic stress and is generally supplied
with a special melody design, unless the context itself renders this intonation pattern
unnecessary, as in the following excerpt from Dickens's "Posthumous Papers of the
Pickwick Club":
"Never mind," said the stranger, cutting the address very short, "said enough—no
more; smart chap that cabman—handled his fives well; but if I'd been your friend in
the green jemmy—damn me—punch his head—7 Cod I would— pig's whisper—
pieman too,—no gammon."
"This coherent speech was interrupted by the entrance of the Rochester coachman, to
announce that..."
The word 'coherent', which describes Mr. Jingle's speech, is inconsistent with the
actual utterance, and therefore becomes self-contradictory. In no other device where
we can observe the interplay of the dictionary and contextual meanings, is the latter so
fluctuating, suggestive, and dependent on the environment as is irony. That is why
there are practically no cases of irony in language-as-a-system.
Irony must not be confused with humour, although they have very much in common.
Humour always causes laughter. What is funny must come as a sudden clash of the
positive and the negative. In this respect irony can be likened to humour. But the
function of irony is not confined to producing a humorous effect. In a sentence like
"How clever of you!" where, due to the intonation pattern, the word 'clever' conveys a
sense opposite to its literal signification, the irony does not cause a ludicrous effect. It
rather expresses a feeling of irritation, displeasure, pity or regret. A word used
ironically may sometimes express very subtle, almost imperceptible nuances of
meaning, as the word 'like'- in the following lines from "Beppo" by Byron,
XLVII
/ like a parliamentary debate, Particularly when 'tis not too late.
XLVII I
1 like the taxes, when they're not too many;
I like a seacoal fire, when not too dear; I like a beef-steak, too, as well as any;
Have no objection to a pot of beer; I like the weather, when it is not rainy,
That is I like two months of every year.
And so God save the Regent, Church and King! Which means that I like all and
everything.
In the first line the word 'like''.gives only a slight hint of irony. Parliamentary debates
are usually long. The word 'debate' itself sug-. gests a lengthy discussfon, therefore
the word 'like' here should be taken with some reservation. In other words, a hint of
the interplay between positive arid negative begins with the first 'like'.
The second use of the word Ч ike' is definitely ironical. No one would be expected to
like taxes. It is so obvious that no context is necessary to decode the true meaning of
'like'. The attributive phrase 'when they're not too many' strengthens the irony.
Then Byron uses the word 'like' in its literal meaning, 'Like' in combinations with
'seacoal fire' and 'a beef-steak' and with 'two months of every year' maintains its literal
meaning, although in the phrase "I like the'Weather" the notion is very general. But
the last line again shows that the word 'like' is used with an ironic touch, meaning 'to
like' and 'to put up with' simultaneously.
Richard Altick says, "The effect of irony lies in the striking disparity between what is
said and what is meant."1 * This "striking disparity" is achieved through the
intentional interplay of two meanings, which are in opposition to each other.
Another important observation must be borne in mind when analysing the linguistic
nature of irony. Irony is generally used to convey a negative meaning. Therefore only
positive concepts may be used in their logical dictionary meanings. In the examples
quoted above, irony is embodied in such words as 'delightful', 'clever', 'coherent',
'like'. The contextual meaning always conveys the negation of the positive concepts
embodied in the dictionary meaning.
2. INTERACTION OF PRIMARY AND DERIVATIVE LOGICAL MEANINGS
Stylistic Devices Based on Polysemantic Effect, Zeugma and Pun
As is known, the word is, of all language units, the most sensitive to change; its
meaning gradually develops and as a result of this develop-"' ment new meanings
appear alongside the primary one. It is погтаГТог almost every word to
acquire"derivati/ve meanings; sometimes the primary meaning has to^make way
for^quite a new meaning which ousts it completely;
In dealing with the problem of nonce-words and new meanings we have already
stated the fact that, in the development of language units we are constantly facing the
op posing concepts of permanence and ephem-erality. Some meanings are
characterized by their permanence, others, like nonce-words and contextual meanings,
are generally ephemeral, i.e. they appear in some contexts and vanish leaving no trace
in the vocabulary of the language. Primary and the derivative meanings are char-
acterizedjb^heir relative stability and therefore arej^ixec3[jr^diction-
anes7'^из^сойШШШЩ^ё^ййайГс4'structure of the wdn37
The problem of jftaifeemYjs one of the vexed questions of lexicology. It is sometimes
impossible to draw a line of demarcation between a derivative meaning of a
polysemantic word and a separate word, i.e. a word that has broken its semantic ties
with the head word and has become a homonym to the word it was derived from.
Polysemy is a category of lexicology and as such belongs to language-as-a-^ystem^ In
actual everyday Speech j^lуsemy vanishes unless it is 3elT5efafeiy retained for
certain "stylistic purposes. A context that does not seek to produce any particular
stylistic effect generally materializes 'but one definite meaning%
"""""However, when a word begins to manifest an interplay between the jgnmary and
one of the derivative meanings we are again confronted with arTSD.
" ~tet us analyse the following example from Sonnet 90 by Shakespeareг where the
key-words are intentionally made to reveal two or more meanings.
"Then hate me if thou wilt, if ever now.
Now while the world is bent my deeds to cross."
The word'hate' materializes several meanings in this context. The primary meaning of
the word, according to the Shorter Oxford English Dictionary, is 'to hold in very
strong dislike'. This basic meaning has brought to life some "'derivative meanings
which, though having very much in common, still show some nuances, special shades
of meaning which enrich the semantic structure of the word. They are: 1) 'to detest'; 2)
Чо,Ьеаг malice to'; 3) the opposite of to love (which in itself is not sb emotionally
coloured as in the definition of the primary meaning: it almost amounts to being
indifferent); 4) 4o feel a repulsive attitude'. Other dictionaries fix such senses as 5) 4o
wisH to shun' (Heritage Dictionary); 6) Ч о feel aversion for' (Random House
Dictionary); 7) 'to bear Ш-will,.against';'8) 'to desire evil to (persons)'.(Wyld's
Dictionary).
""There is a peculiar inferplay among derivative meanings of the word 'hate' in Sonnet
90 where the lamentation of the poet about the calamities which had befallen him
results in his pleading with his beloved not to leave him in despair. The whole of the
context forcibly suggests that there is a certain interaction of the following meanings:
2) 'to bear malice' (suggested by the line 'join with the spite of fortune')—4) 'to feel a
repulsive attitude'—5) 4o wish to shun' (suggested by the line 'if thou wilt leave me
do not leave me last' and also 'compared with loss of thee')—7) and 8) 'to desire evil
and bear ill-will against' (suggested by the line 'join wifh the spite of fortune' and 'so
shall I taste the very worst of fortune's might'). All these derivative meanings
interweave yrith the primary one and this network of meanings constitutes a stylistic
device which may be called the poly semantic ё f f e с t.
This SD can be detected only when a rather large span of utterance, up to a whole
text, is subjected to a scrupulous and minute analysis. It also requires some skill in
evaluating the ratio of the primary and derivative meanings in the given environment,
the ratio being dependent on the general content of the text.
The word 'bent' in the second line of the sonnet does not present any difficulty in
decoding its meaning. The metaphorical meaning of the word is apparent. A
contextual meaning is imposed on the word. The micro-context is the key to decode
its meaning.
The past participle of the verb to bend together with the verb to cross builds a
metaphor the meaning of which is 4o hinder', 4o block', 4o interfere'.
The polysemantic effect is a very subtle and sometimes hardly perceptible stylistic
device. But it is impossible to underrate its significance "in discovering the
aesthetically pragmatic function of the utterance.
Unlike this device, the two SDs — Zeugma and Pun lie, as it were, on the surface of
the text.
Zeugma is the use of a word in the same grammatical but different semantic relations
to two adjacent words in the context, the se^
being/ on the one hand, literal, and, on the other, transferred.
"Dora, plunging at once into privileged intimacy and Into the middle of the room". (B.
Shaw)
'To plunge' (into the middle of a room) materializes the meaning 4o rush into' or 'enter
impetuously'. Here it is used in its concrete, primary, literal meaning; in 'to plunge
into privileged intimacy' the word 'plunge' is used in its derivative meaning.
The same can be said of the use of the verbs 'stain' and 'lose' in the following lines
from Pope's "The Rape of the Lock":
"Г.. Whether 4he Nymph Shall stain her Honour or her new Brocade Or lose her
Heart or necklace at a Ball.".
This stylistic device is particularly favoured in English emotive prose and in poetry.
The revival of the original meanings of words must be regarded as an essential quality
of доу work in the belles-lettres style. A good writer always keeps the chief meanings
of words from fading away, provided the meanings are worth being kept fresh and
vigorous.
Zeugma _.isja_strpng, and effective device to maintain the purity of the primary
meaning when the two meanings clash. By making the two meanings conspicuous in
this particular way, each of them stands out clearly. The structure of zeugma may
present variations from the patterns given above. Thus in the sentence:
"...And May's mother always stood on her gentility; and Dot's mother never stood on
anything but her active little feet" (Dickens)
The word 'stood' is used twice. This structural variant of zeugma, though producing
some slight difference in meaning, does not violate the principle of the stylistic
device. It still makes the reader realize that the two meanings of the word 'stand' are
simultaneously expressed, one primary and the other derivative.
Pun is another stylistic device based on the interaction of two words or phrase. It is
difficult do draw Oafd and fast distinction between zeugma and the pun. The only re-
liable distinguishing feature is a structural one: zeugma _is the realization of two
meanings the^hel a verb wfficn is таЗеТо refer f9^
. (direct or indirect). The pun is more independent. There need not necessarily be a
word in the sentence to which the pun-word refers. This does not mean, however, that
the pun IFTntireTy free. Like any other stylistic device, it must depend on a context.
But the context may be of a more expanded character sometimes even as large as a
whole work of emotive prose. Thus the title of one of Oscar Wilde's plays, "The
Importance of Being Earnest" has a pun in it, inasmuch as the name of the hero and
the adjective meaning 'seriously-minded' are both present in our mind.
Here is another example of a pun where a larger context for its realization is used:
'"Bow to the board" said Bumble. Oliver brushed away two or three tears that were
lingering in his eyes; and seeing no board but the table, fortunately bowed to that'.
(Dickens)
In fact, the humorous effect is caused by the interplay not of two meanings of one
word, but of two words. 'Board' as a group of officials with functions of
administration and management and 'board' as a piece of furniture (a table) have
become two distinct words.
Puns are often used in riddles and jokes, for example, in this riddle: What is the
difference between a schoolmaster and an engine-driver? (One trains the mind and the
other minds the train.)
Devices of simultaneously realizing the various meanings of words, which are of a
more subtle character than those embodied in puns and zeugma, are to be found in
poetry and poetical descriptions and in speculations in emotive prose. Men-of-letters
are especially sensitive to the nuances of meaning embodied in almost every common
word, and to make these words live with their multifarious semantic aspects is the
task of a good writer. Those who can do it easily are said to have talent.
In this respect it is worth subjecting to stylistic analysis words ordinarily perceived in
their primary meaning but which in poetic diction begin to acquire some additional,
contextual meaning. This latter meaning sometimes overshadows the primary
meaning and it may, in the course of time, cease to denote the primary meaning, the
derived meaning establishing itself as the most recognizable one. But to deal with
1 We shall here disregard the difference between polysemy and homonymy, it being
irrelevant, more or less, for stylistic purposes.
These cases mean to leave the domain of stylistics and find ourselves in the domain of
lexicology.
To illustrate the interplay of primary and contextual meanings, let us take a few
examples from poetical works:
In Robert Frost's poem "Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening" the poet, taking
delight in watching the snow fall on the woods, concludes his poem in the following
words:
"The woods are lovely, dark and deep. But I have promises to keep, and miles to go
before I sleep, and miles to go before I sleep."
The word 'promises' here is made to signify two concepts, viz. 1) a previous
engagement to be fulfilled and 2) total obligation.
The plural form of the word as well as the whole context of the poem are convincing
proof that the second of the two meanings is the main one, in spite of the fact that in
combination with the verb to keep (to keep a promise) the first meaning is more
predictable.
Here is another example.
In Shakespearian Sonnet 29 there are the following lines:
"When- in disgrace with fortune and men's eyes, I all alone beweep my outcast state,
And trouble deaf heaven with my bootless cries And think upon myself and curse my
fate."
Almost every word here may be interpreted in different senses: sometimes the
differences are hardly perceptible, sometimes they are obviously antagonistic to the
primary meaning.
But we shall confine our analysis only to the meaning of the word 'cries' which
signifies both prayer and lamentation. These two meanings are suggested by the
relation of the word 'cries' to 'trouble deaf heaven'. But the word 'cries' suggests not
only prayer and lamentation, it also implies violent prayer and lamentation as if in
deep despair, almost with tears (see the word 'beweep' in the second line of the part
of the sonnet quoted).
It is very important to be able to follow the author's intention from his manner of
expressing nuances of meaning which are potentially present in the semantic structure
of existing words. Those who fail to define the suggested meanings of poetic words
will never understand poetry because they are unable* to decode the poetic language.
In various functional styles of language the capacity of a word to signify several
meanings simultaneously manifests itself in different degrees. In scientific prose it
almost equals zero. In poetic style thii
is an essential property.
To observe the fluctuations of meanings in the belles-lettres style is not only
important for a better understanding of the purpose or intention of the writer, but also
profitable to a linguistic scholar engaged in the study of semantic changes in words.
152 ..
3. INTERACTION OF LOGICAL AND EMOTIVE MEANINGS
The general notions concerning emotiveness have been set out in part I, § 6
—"Meaning from a Stylistic Point of View" (p. 57). However, some additional
information is necessary for a better understanding of how logical and emotive
meanings interact.
It must be clearly understood that the logical and the emotive are built into our minds
and they are present there in different degrees when we think of various phenomena
of objective reality. The ratio of the two elements is reflected in the composition of
verbal chains, i.e. in expression. l
Different emotional elements may appear in the utterance depending on its character
and pragmatic aspect.
The^ emotional elements of the language have a tendency to wear out ancTare
constantly replaced by new ones (see examples on p. 101—the "word dramatic and
others). Almost any word may acquire a greater or a lesser degree of emotiveness.
This is due to the fact that, as B. Tomash-evskyhas it, "The word is not only
understood, it is also experienced."2
There are words the function of which is to arouse emotion in the leader or listener. In
such words smoiiy.eriess prevails over intellectuali-J^. There are also words in whidi
the logical meaning is almost entirely ousted. However, these words express feelings
which have passed through our mind and therefore they have acquired an intellectual
embodiment. In other words, emotiveness in language is a category of our minds and,
consequently, our feelings are expressed not directly but indirectly, that is, by passing
through our minds. It is therefore natural that some emotive words have become the
recognized symbols of emotions; the emotions are, as it were, not expressed directly
but referred to. *
"The sensory stage of cognition of objective reality is not only the basis of abstract
thinking, it also accompanies it, bringing the elements of sensory stimuli into the
process of conceptual thinking, and thus defining the sensory grounds of the concepts
as well as the combination of sensory images and logical concepts in a single act of
thinking." a "
We shall try to distinguish between elements of language which have emotive
meaning in their semantic structure and those which acquire this meaning in the
context under the influence of a stylistic device or some other more expressive means
in the utterance.
A greater or lesser volume of emotiveness may be distinguished in words which have
emotive meaning in their semantic structure. The most highly emotive words are
words charged with emotive meaning"T5~tlT^" extent thatthe logical meaning can
hardly be registered. These are fti-li^cJiQns and.jal.1 kinds of exclamations. Next
com^ epithets, in which we
can observe a kirtd of parity between emotive and logical meaning. Thirdly come
ej3it.het&jo!J^ in which the logical meaning prevails over the emotive but where the
emotive is the;. result of the clash between the logical and illogical.

Interjections and Exclamatory Words


Interjections are words we use when we express our feelings ^strongly and which may
be said to exist in language as coriyeritional symbols of human emotions/The role of
interjections in creating emotive meanings has already been dealt with (see p. 67). It
remains only to show how the logical and emotive meanings interact and to ascertain
their general functions and spheres of application”
In traditional grammars the interjection is regarded as a part of speech, alongside
other parts of speech, as the noun, adjective, verb, etc. But there is another view
which regards the interjection not as a part of speech but as a sentence. There is much
to uphold this view* Indeed, a word taken separately is deprived of any intonation
which will suggest a complete idea, that is, a pronouncement; whereas a word-_
interjection will always manifest a definite attitude on the part of the speaker towards
the problem and therefore have intonation. The pauses between words are very brief,
sometimes hardly perceptible, whereas the pause between" the interjection and the
words that follow is so long, so significant that it may be equalled to the pauses
between sentences.
However, a closer investigation into the nature and functions of the interjection
proves beyond doubt that the interjection is not a sentence; it is a word with strong
emotive meaning. The pauses that frame interjections can be accounted for by the
sudden transfer from the emotion-*** al to the logical or vice versa. Further, the
definite intonation with whicli interjections are pronounced 4^Pe^ds on the sense of
the preceding of*^ following sentence. Interj'ections have no sentence meaning if
taken in^
dependently.
Let us take some examples of the use of interjections:
Oft, where are you going to, all you Big Steamers? (Kipling) The interjection oh by
itself may express various feelings, such as regret, despair, dis^ppointpierit, sorrow,
woe, surprise, astonishment, lamentation, entreaty and many others. Here it precedes
a definite sentence and must be regarded as a part of it. It denotes the ar-"dent tone of
the question. The Oh here may be regarded, to use the terminology of theory of
information, as a signal indicating emotional tension in the following utterance.
The same may be observed in the use of the interjection oh in the
following sentence from "A Christmas Carol" by Dickens: I
"Oft! but he was a tight-fisted hand at the grind-stone, Scrooge."
The Oft here is',a signaMndicating the strength of the emotions of
the author, which are further revealed in a number of devices, mostly
syntactical, like elliptical sentences, tautological subjects, etc. The tneaning of the
interjection Oft in the sentence can again be pinned down only from the semantic
analysis of the sentence following it and then it becomes clear that the emotion to be
understood is one of disgust or scorn.
So interjections, as it were, radiate the emotional element over the whole of the
utterance, provided, of course, that they precede it.
It is interesting to note in passing how often interjections are used by Shakespeare in
his sonnets. Most of them serve as signals for the sestet which is the semantic or/and
emotional counterpart to the octave,1 or example:
"0, carve not with thy horns ..." (Sonnet 19)
"0, Let me, true in love, but..." (21)
"0, therefore, love be of thyself...." (22)
"0, let my books be, then, the..." (23)
"0, then vouchsafe me..." (32)
"0, absence, what a torment..." (39)
"0, no! thy love, though much..." (61)
"0, fearful meditation..." (65)
"0, if I say, you look..." (71)
"0, lest your true love..." (72)
"0, know, sweet love..." (76)
Mft, do not, when my heart..." (96)2
Interjections can be divided into p r i mar у and derivative. Primary interjections are
generally devoid of any logical meaning. Derivative interjections may retain a
modicum of logical meaning, though this is always suppressed by the volume of
emotive meaning. Oft! Ahl Bahl Poohl GosM Hushl Alasl are primary interjections,
though some of them once had logical meaning. 'Heavens!', 'good gracious!', 'dear
me!', 'God!', 'Come on!', 'Look here!', 'dear!', 'by the Lord!', 'God knows!', 'Bless me!',
'Humbug!' and many others of this kind are not interjections as such; a better name for
them would be exclamatory words and word-combinations generally used as
interjections,' r.e. their function is that of the interjection.
It must be noted here that some adjectives, nouns and adverbs can also take on the
function of interjections—for example, such words as terrible!, awful!, great!',
wonderful!, splendid!', fine!, man!, boy! With proper intonation and with an adequate
pause such as follows an interjection, these words may acquire a strong emotional
colouring and are equal in force to interjections. In that case we rrfay say that some
adjectives and adverbs have acquired an additional grammatical meaning, that of the
interjection.
Men-of-letters, most of whom possess an acute feeling for words, their meaning,
sound, possibilities, potential energy, etc., are always aware °f the emotional charge
of words in a context. An instance of such acute
2 It is interesting to note here that out of the four interjections used by Shakespeare jn
his^sonnets (0, Ah, alack (alas), ay) the interjection 0 is used forty-eight times, Ah
*ive times, alack — twice, and ay — twice.
awareness is the following excerpt from Somerset Maugham's "The Razor's Edge"
where in a conversation the word God is used in two different senses: first in its
logical meaning and then with the grammatical meaning of the interjection:
"Perhaps he won't. It's a long arduous road he's starting to travel, but it may be that at
the end of it he'll find what he's seeking." "What's that?"
"Hasn't it occurred to you? It seems to me that in what he said to you he indicated it
pretty plainly. God."
"God!" she cried. But it was an exclamation of incredulous surprise. Our use of the
same word, but in such a different sense, had a comic effect, so that we were obliged
to laugh. But Isabel immediately grew serious again and I felt in her whole attitude
something like fear.
the change in the sense of the word god is indicated by a mark of exclamation, by the
use of the word 'cried' and the words 'exclamation of incredulous surprise' which are
ways of conveying in writing the sense carried in the spoken language by the
intonation.
Interjections always attach a definite modal nuance to the utterance. But it is
impossible to define exactly the shade of meaning contained in a given interjection,
though the context may suggest one. Here are some of the meanings that can be
expressed by interjections: joy, delight, admiration, approval, disbelief, astonishment,
fright, regret, woe, dissatisfaction, ennui (boredom), sadness, blame, reproach,
protest, horror, irony, sarcasm, meanness, self-assurance, despair, disgust and
many others.
Interesting attempts have been made to specify the emotions expressed by some of the
interjections. Here are a few lines from Byron's "Don JuanJ which may serve as an
illustration:
"All present life is but an interjection
An 'Oh' or 'Ah' of joy or misery, Or a 'Ha! ha!' or 'Bah!'—a yawn or 'Pooh!' Of which
perhaps the latter is most true."
A strong impression is made by a* poem by M. Tsvetayeva “Молвь” in which three
Russian interjections “ox”, “ax” and “эх” are subjected to a poetically exquisite subtle
analysis from the point of view of the meanings these three interjections may express.
Interjections, like other words in the English vocabulary, bear features which mark
them as bookish, neutral* or с о I I o q и i~ a I. Thus oft, aft, Baft and the like are
neutral; a/as, egad (euphemism for “by GocP), Lo, Яаг1Гаге bookish *\ gosh, why,
well are colloquial. But ais with other woTcTsTff any stratum of vocabulary, the
border-line between the three groups is broad and flexible. Sometimes therefore a
given interjection may be considered as bookish by one scholar and as neutral
by another, or colloquial by one and neutral by another. However, the difference
between colloquial and bookish will always be clear enough. In evaluating the attitude
of a writer to the things, ideas, events and phenomena he is dealing with, the ability of
the reader to pin-point the emotional element becomes of paramount importance. It is
sometimes hidden under seemingly impartial description or narrative, and only an
insignificant lexical unit, or the syntactical design of an utterance, will reveal the
author's mood. But interjections, as has been said, are direct sigrialstlia^ charged, and
insufficient attention on the part' of the literary critic Tomcfuse 6! interjections will
deprive him of a truer understanding of the writer's aims.
1 The last two are somewhat archaic and used mostly in poetical language. Egad is
also archaic.

The Epithet
From the strongest means of displaying the writer's or speaker's emotional attitude to
his communication, we now pass to a weaker but still forceful, means — the epithet.
The epithet is subtle and delicate in character. It is not so direct as the interjection.
Some people even consider that it can create an atmosphere of objective evaluation,
whereas it actually conveys the subjective attitude of the writer, showing that lie is
partial in one way or another;
"The epithet is a stylistic device based on the interplay of emotive and logical
meaning in an attributive word/phrase or even sentectically used to characterize an
object and pointing out to the reader, and frequently imposing on him, some of the
properties or features of the object with the aim of giving an individual perception and
evaluation of these features or properties. The epithet is markedly subjective and
evaluative. The logical attribute is purely objective, non-evaluating. It is descriptive
and indicates an inherent or prominent feature of the thing or phenomenon in
question.
Thus, in 'green meadows', 'white snow', 'round table', 'blue skies', 'pale complexion',
'lofty mountains' and the like,- the adjectives are more logical attributes than epithets.
They indicate those qualities of the objects which may be regarded as generally
recognized. But in 'wild wind', 'loud ocean',, 'remorseless dash of billows', 'formidable
waves', 'Heart-burning smile', the adjectives do not point to inherent qualities of the
objects described. They are subjectively evaluative.
The epithet makes a strong impact on the reader, so much so, that he unwittingly
begins to see and evaluate things as the writer wants turn to. Indeed, in such word-
combinations as 'destructive charms', 'glorious sight', 'encouraging smile', the
interrelation between logical and emotive meanings may be said to manifest itself in
different degrees. The word destructive has retained its logical meaning to a consid-
erable extent, -but at the same time an experienced reader cannot help perceiving the
emotive meaning of the word which in this combination will signify 'conquering,
irresistible, dangerous'. The logical meaning of the word glorious in combination with
the word sight has almost entirely faded out. Glorious is already fixed in dictionaries
as a word having an emotive meaning alongside its primary, logical meaning. As to
the word encouraging (in the combination 'encouraging smile') it is half epithet and
half logical attribute. In fact, it is sometimes difficult to draw a clear line of
demarcation between eplffief and logt-"cal attribute. Iff some passages the logical
attribute becomes so strongly | enveloped in the emotional aspect of the utterance that
it begins to radiate emotiveness, though by nature it is logically descriptive. Take, for
example, the adjectives green, white, and blue, lofty (but somehow not round) in the
combinations given above. In a suitable context they may all have a definite
emotional impact on the reader. This is probably explained by the fact that the quality
most characteristic of the given object is attached to it, thus strengthening the quality.
Epithets may be classified from different standpoints: semantic and structural.
Semantically, epithets may be divided into two groups: those associated with the noun
following and those unassociated with it.
Associated epithets are those which point to a feature which is es-describe: the idea
expressed in the epithet is to
^gn^Qo^Jb^Jibjects they aescnoe: ше mea слр^оо^ *** „^ ~r..._,_ __
a cerfam extent jnfierent in the concept of the object. The associated epithet
immediately refers the mind to the concept in question due to some actual quality of
the object it is attached to, for instance, 'dark forest, 'dreary midnight', 'careful
attention', 'unwearyingly research', 'fantastic terrors', etc.
Unassociated epithets are attributes used to characterize the object by adding a feature
not inherent in it i.e. a feature which may be so unexpected as to strike the reader by
its novelty, as, for instance, 'heartburning smile', 'bootless cries', 'sullen earth',
'voiceless sands', etc. The adjectives here do not indicate any property inherent in the
objects in question. They impose, as it were, a property on them which is fitting only
in the given circumstances. It may seem strange, unusual, or even accidental.
In any combination of words it is very important to observe to what degree the
components of the combination are linked. When they are so closely linked that the
component parts become inseparable, we note that we are dealing with a set
expression. When the link between the component parts is comparatively close, we
say there is a stable word-combination, and when we can substitute any word of the
same grammatical category for the one given, we note what is called a free
combination of words.
With regard to epithets, this division becomes of paramount importance, in as much
as the epithet is a powerful means for making the desired impact on the reader, and
therefore its ties with the noun are generally contextual. However, there are
combinations in which the ties between the attribute and the noun defined are very
close, and the whole combination is viewed as a linguistic whole. Combinations of
this type appear as a result of the frequent use of certain definite epithets with definite
nouns. They become stable word-combinations. Examples are: 'bright face', valuable
connections' 'sweet smile', 'unearthly beauty', 'pitch darkness', 'thirsty deserts', 'deep
feeling', 'classic example', 'powerful influence', 'sweet perfume' and the like. The
predictability of such epithets is very great.
The function of epithets of this kind remains basically the same: "to show the
evaluating, subjective attitude of the writer towards the thing described. But for this
purpose the author does not create his own, 'new, unexpected epithets; he uses ones
that have become traditional, and may be termed "language epithets" as they
JbeI6ng^6"Welanguage-as-a-system. Thus epithets may be divided into language
epithets and speech epithets. Examples of speech epithets are: 'slavish knees',
'sleepless bay.'
The process of strengthening the connection between the epithet and the
nouaJtn^^^njetimes go^o far as to build a specific unit which does not lose its poetic
flavour. Such epithets are calle,d,Xl^^ d and ^emosi^ ly used in ballads^ajni(ifpj[^
songs. Her of fixed epithets: 'true love', 'dark forest', 'sweet Sir', 'green wood', 'good
ship', 'brave cavaliersV •- - - ...—.......,... ..____
Structurally, epithets can be viewed from the angle of a) composition and b)
distribution.
From the point of view of their compositional structure epithets may be divided into
simple, compound, phrase and sentence epithets. Simple epithets are ordinary
adjectives. Examples have been given above. 'Compound epithets are built like com-
pound adjectives. Examples are: 'heart-burning sigh', 'sylph-like figures', 'cloud-
shapen giant',
"...curly-headed good-for-nothing,
And mischief-making monkey from his birth." (Byron)
The tendency to cram into one language unit as much information as possible has led
to new compositional models for epithets which we shall call phrase epithets. A
phrase and even a whole sentence may become an epithet if the main formal
requirement of the epithet is maintained, viz. its attributive use. But unlike simple and
compound epithets, which may have pre- or post-position, phrase epithets are always
placed before the nouns they refer to.
An interesting observation in this respect has been made by O. S. Akhmanova. "The
syntactical combinations are, as it were, more explicit, descriptive, elaborate; the
lexical are more of an indication, a hint or a clue to some previously communicated or
generally known fact, as if one should say: 'You know what I mean and all I have to
do now is to point it out to you in this concise and familiar way'." x
This inner semantic quality of the attributive relations in lexical combinations, as they
are called by O. S. Akhmanova, is, perhaps, most striking in the phrase and sentence
epithets. Here the 'concise way' is most effectively used.
Here are some examples of phrase epithets:
.. luAkhmanova 0. S. Lexical and Syntactical Collocations in Contemporary Eng-
lish. Zeitschrift fur Anerli.stik unH Ampribinkttk" M 10КЯ Hpff T n 1Q
"It is this do-it-yourself, go-it-alone attitude that has thus far heldlJack real
development of theTVliddle East's river resources." (N. Y. T. Magazine, 19 Oct.,
1958.)
"Personally I detest her (Gioconda's) smug, mystery-making, Qome-hither-but-go-
away-again-because-butter-wouldn't-melt-in-my-mouth expression." (New Statesman
and Nntion, Jan. 5, 1957)
"There is a sort of 'Oh-what-a-wicked-world-this-is-and-how-
I-wish-I-could-do-something-to-make-it-better-and-nobler* expression
about Montmorency that has been known to bring the tears into
the eyes of pious old ladies and gentlemen." (Jerome K. Jerome,
"Three Men in a Boat")
"Freddie was standing in front of the fireplace with a 'well-thafs-the-story-what-are-
we-going-to-do-about-it* air that made him a focal point." (Leslie Ford, "Siren in the
NighT7)
An interesting structural detail of phrase and sentence epithets is that they are
generally followed by the worus^expression, air, attitude and others which describe
behaviour or facial expression. In other words, such epithets seem to transcribe into
language symbols a communication usually" conveyed by non-linguistic means.
Another structural feature of such phrase epithets is that after the nouns they refer to,
there often comes a subordinate attributive clause beginning with that. This attributive
clause, as it were, serves the purpose of decoding the effect of the communication. It
must be noted that phrase epithets are always hyphenated, thus pointing to the
temporary structure of the compound word.
These two structural features have predetermined the functioning of phrase epithets.
Practically any phrase .or, sentence which deals with the psychological state of a
person may serve as an epithet. The phrases and sentences transformed into epithets
lose their independence and assume a new quality which is revealed both in the
intonation pattern (that of ш attribute) and graphically (by being hyphenated).
Another structural variety of the epithet is the оде which we shall term r eve r s e d.
The reversed epithet is composed of two nouns linked 4ft an e/-phrase. The
subjective, evaluating, emotional element is embodied not in the noun attribute but in
the noun structurally described, for example: "the shadow of a smile"; "a devil of a
job" (Maugham); "...he smiled brightly, neatly, efficiently, a military abbreviation of a
smile" (Graham Green); "A devil of ,a sea rolls in that bay" (Byron); "A little Flying
Dutchman of a cab" (Galsworthy); "a dog of a fellow" (Dickens); "her brute of a
brother" (Galsworthy); "...a long nightshirt of a mackintosh..." (Cronin)
It will be observed that such epithets are metaphorical. The noun to be assessed is
contained in the of-phrase and the noun it qualifies is".a''metaphor ^(shadow, devil,
military abbreviation, Flying*Dutchman, ^2~^jr~The grammatjcai aspect, viz.
attributive relation between the members of the combination shows that the SD here
la an epithet.
It has been acknowledged that it is sometimes difficult to draw a line of demarcation
between attributive and predicative relations. Some at-
tributes carry so much information that they may justly be considered bearers of
predicativeness. This is particularly true of the epithet, especially genuine or speech
epithets, which belong to language-in-action and not to language-as-a-system. These
epithets are predicative in essence, though not in form.
On the other hand, some word-combinations where we have predicative relations
convey so strongly the emotional assessment of the object spoken of, that in spite of
their formal, structural design, the Predi^jyjss_c^ as epithets. Here are some
examples:
'Fools that they are'; 'Wicked as he is.' ;
The inverted position of the predicatives tools' and 'wicked' as well as the intensifying
4hat they are' and 'as he is' mark this border-line variety of epithet.
Some language epithets, in spite of opposition on the part of orthodox language
purists, establish themselves in standard English as conventional symbols of
assessment for a given period. To these belong words we have already spoken of like
terrible, awful, massive, top, dramatic, mighty, crucial (see p. 66).
From the point of view of the dis^tji^ujj^n^^f the epithets in the sentence, the first
model to b€^omTecToulTs thes t r i n g ofepi-the is. In his depiction of New York, O.
Henry ^TvSTB^loTrowing sffing^ of epithets:
"Such was the background of the wonderful, cruel, enchanting, bewildering, fatal,
great city;"
Other examples are: a plump, rosy-cheeked, wholesome apple-faced young woman
(Dickens); "a well-matched, fairly-balanced give-and-take couple." (Dickens)
As in any enumeration, the .string of epithets gives a many-sided depfttton of the
object. 3ut in this many-sidedness there is always a suggestion of an ascending order
of emotive elements. This can easily be observed in the intonation pattern of a string
of epithets. There is generally an ascending scale which culminates in the last epithet;
if the last epithet is a language epithet (great), or riot an epithet (young), the
culminating point is the last genuine epithet. The culminating point in the above
examples is at fatal, apple-faced, and give-and-take.
Another distributional model is the Јra n^s f e r r e d epithet. Transferred epithets are
ordinary logical ^attributes generally describing the state of a human being, but made
to refer to an inanimate object, for example: "sick chamber, sleepless pillow, restless
pace, breathless eagerness, tinbreakfasted morning, merry hours, a disapproving
finger, Isabel shrugged an indifferent shoulder.
As may be seen, it is the force contributed to the attribute by its position, and not by
its meaning, that hallows it into an epithet. The main feature of the epithet, that of
emotional assessment, is greatly diminished in this model; but it never quite vanishes.
The meaning of the logical attributes injuch combinations acquires a definite
emotional colouring.
Language epithets as part of the emotional word-stock of the language have a
tendency to become obsolescent. That is the fate of many emotional elements in the
language. They gradually lose their emotive charge and are replaced by new ones
which, in their turn, will be replaced by neologisms. Such was the fate of the language
epithet good-natured. In the works of Henry Fielding this epithet appears very often,
as, for example, *a good-natured hole', 'good-natured side'. The words vast and vastly
were also used as epithets in the works of men-of-letters of the 18th century, as in
'vast rains', 'vastly amused'.
The problem of the epithet is too large and too significant to be fully dealt with in a
short chapter. Indeed, it may be regarded as the crucial problem in emotive language
and epithets, correspondingly, among the stylistic devices of the language.
It remains only to say that thegpithet is a direct and straightforward way of showing
the author's attitude towards the things described, whereas other stylistic devices, even
image-bearing ones, will reveal the author's evaluation of the object only indirectly.
That is probably why those authors who wish to show a seeming impartiality and
objectivity in depicting their heroes and describing events use few epithets. Realistic
authors use epithets much more sparingly, as statistical data have shown. Roughly
speaking, Romanticism, on the other hand, may to some extent be characterized by its
abundant use of epithets. In illustration we have taken at random a few lines from a
stanza in Byron's "Childe Harold's Pilgrimage":
The horrid crags, by toppling convent, crowned, The cork-trees hoar that clothe the
shaggy steep,
The mountain-moss by scorching skies imbrown'd, The sunken glen, whose sunless
shrubs must weep,
The orange tints that gild the greenest bough..8

Oxymoron
Oxymoron is a combination of two words (mostly an adjective and a noun or an
adverb with an adjective) in which the meanings of the two clash, being opposite in
sense, for example:
'low skyscraper', 'sweet sorrow', 'nice rascal', 'pleasantly ugly face', 'horribiy
^ЪеаиШиГ, 'a deafening silence',
If the primary meaning of the qualifying word changes or weakens, the stylistic effect
of oxymoronMs lost. This is the case with what were once oxymoronic combinations,
for example, 'awfully nice', 'awfully glad', 'terribly sorry' and the like, where the
words awfully and terribly have lost their primary logical meaning and are now used
with emotive meaning only, as intensifiers. The essence of oxymoron consists in the
capacity of the primary meaning of the adjective or adverb to resist for some time the
overwhelming power of semantic change which words undergo in combination. The
forcible combination of non-combinative words seems to develop what may be called
a kind of centrifugal force which keeps them apart, in contrast to ordinary word-
combinations where centripetal force is in action.
We have already pointed out that there are different ratios of emotive-logical relations
in epithets. In some of them the logical meaning is hardly perceived, in others the two
meanings co-exist. In oxymoron the logical meaning holds fast because there is no
true word-combination, only the juxtaposition of two non-combinative words.
But still we may notice a peculiar change in the meaning of the qualifying word. It
assumes a new life in oxymoron, definitely indicative of the assessing tendency in the
writer's mind.
Let us take the following example from O. Henry's story "The Duel" in which one of
the heroes thus describes his attitude towards New York,
"I despise its very vastness and power. It has the poorest millionaires, the littlest great
men, the haughtiest beggars, the plainest beauties, the lowest skyscrapers, the
dolefulest pleasures of any town I ever saw,"
Even the superlative degree of the adjectives fails to extinguish the primary meaning
of the adjectives: poor, little, haughty, etcs But by some inner law of word-
combinations they also show the attitude of the speaker, reinforced, of course, by the
preceding sentence: "I despise its very vast-ness and power."
It will not come amiss to express this language phenomenon in terms of the theory of
information, which states that though the general tendency of entropy is to enlarge,
the encoding tendency in the language, which strives for an organized system of
language symbols, reduces entropy. Perhaps, this is due to the organizing spirit of the
language, i.e. the striving after a system (which in its very essence is an organized
whole) that oxymoronic groups, if repeated frequently, lose their stylistic quality and
gradually fall into the group of acknowledged word-combinations which consist of an
intensifier and the concept intensified.
Oxymoron has one main structural model: a d j e с t i v e 4- n о и п. It is in this
structural model that the resistance of the two component parts to fusion into one unit
manifests itself most strongly. In the a d-v e r b + adjective model the change of
meaning in the first element, the adverb, is more rapid, resistance to the unifying
process not being so strong.
Sometimes the tendency to use oxymoron is the mark of certain literary trends and
tastes. There are poets in search of-new shades of meaning in existing words, who
make a point of joining together words of contradictory meaning. "Two ordinary
words may become almost new," writes V. V. Vinogradov, "if they are joined for the
first time or used in an unexpected context." l
Thus, 'peopled desert', 'populous solitude', 'proud humility' are oxymoronic.
Sometimes, however, the tendency to combine the uncombinative is revealed in
structurally different forms, not in adjective-noun models. Gorki criticizes his own
sentence: "I suffered then from the fanaticism of knowledge," and called it "a
blunder". He points out that the acquiring of knowledge is not blind as fanaticism is.
The syntactic relations here are not oxymoronic. But combinations of this kind can be
likened to oxymoron. The same can be said of the following lines from Byron's
"Childe Harold's Pilgrimage":
"Fair Greece! sad relic of departed Worth! Immortal, though no more, though fallen,
great!"
Oxymoronic relations in the italicized part can scarcely be felt, but still the contrary
signification is clearly perceived. Such structures may be looked upon as intermediate
between oxymoron and antithesis (see p. 222).
4. INTERACTION OF LOGICAL AND NOMINAL MEANINGS

Antonomasia
We have already pointed out the peculiarities of nominal meaning. The interplay
between the logical and nominal meanings of a word is call-ed antonomasia. As in
other stylistic devices based on the inter-acttotr't^-tettal^meaiilngs, the two kinds of
meanings must be realized in the word simultaneously. If only one meaning is
materialized in the context, there is no stylistic device, as in hooligan, boycott and
other examples given earlier. Here are some examples of genuine antonomasia.
"Among the herd of journals which are published in the States, there are some, the
reader scarcely need be told, of character and credit. From-personal intercourse with
accomplished gentlemen connected with publications of this class, I have derived
both pleasure and profit. But the name of these is Few, and of the other Legion, and
the influence of the good is powerless to counteract the mortal poison of the bad.
(Dickens)
The use of the word name made the author write the words 'Few', and 'Legion' with
capital letters. It is very important to note that this device is mainly realized in, the
written language, because generally capital letters are the only signals to denote tha
presence of the stylistic device. The same can also be observed in the following
example from Byron's "Don Juan":
"Society is now one polished horde,
Form'd of two mighty tribes, the Bores and Bored."
In these two examples of the use of antonomasia the nominal meaning is hardly
perceived, the logical meaning of the words few, legion, bores, bored being too
strong. But there is another point that should be mentioned. Most proper names are
built on some law of analogy. Many of them end in -son (as Johnson) or -er
(Fletcher). We easily recognize such words
as Smith, White, Brown, Green, Fowler and others as proper names. But such names
as Miss BjM-Et/es (Carter Brown) or Scrooge or Mr. Zero may be called t о k en or
telling names. They give;^jnfoЈj^ajtionit>oiithe reader about the bearer of the name.
In this coniiectioiii^rTsTnre'reHrng'to recall the well-known remark by Karl Marx,
who said that we do not know anything about a man if we only know that he is called
Jacob. The nominal meaning is not intended to give any information about the person.
It only serves the purpose of identification. Proper names, i.e. the words with nominal
meaning, can etymologically, in the majority of cases, be traced to some quality,
property or trait of a person, or to his occupation. But this etymological meaning may
be forgotten and the word be understood as a proper name and nothing else. It is not
so with antonomasia. Antonomasia is intended to point out the leading, most char-
acteristic feature of a person or event, at ffie'same time pinning this leading trait as a
proper name to the person or event concerned. In fact, antonomasia is afevivar of the
initial stage in naming individuals.
Antonomasia may be likened to the epithet in essence if not in form. It categorizes the
person and thus simultaneously indicates both the general and the particular.
Antonomasia is a much favoured device in the belles-lettres style. In an article
"What's in a name?", Mr. R. Davis says: "In deciding on names for his characters, an
author has an unfair advantage over other parents. He knows so much better how his
child will turn out. When Saul Bellow named Augie March, he had already conceived
a hero restlessly on the move, marching ahead with august ideas of himself. Henry
James saw in Adam Verver of "The Golden Bowl" a self-made American, sprung
from the soil, full of verve and zest for life. In choosing names like 'Murd-stone',
'Scrooge', and 'Gradgrind', Dickens was being even more obvious." l
In Russian literature this device is employed by many of our classic writers. It will
suffice to mention such names as Vralman, Molchalin, Korobochka and Sobakevich
to illustrate this efficient device for characterizing literary heroes, a device which is
now falling out of use. These Russian names are also coined on the analogy of
generally acknowledged models for proper names, with endings in -man, -in, -vich.
An interesting literary device to emphasize token names is employed by Byron in his
"Don Juan" where the name is followed or preceded by an explanatory remark, as in
the following:
"Sir John Pottledeep, the mighty drinker." "There was the sage Miss Reading." "And
the two fair co-heiresses Giltbedding" "There was Dick Dubious, the metaphysician,
Who loved philosophy and a good dinner; Angle, the soi-disant mathematician',
Sir Henry Silvercup, the great race-winner"
The explanatory words, as it were, revive the logical meaning of the proper names,
thus making more apparent the interplay of logical and nominal meanings.
The use of antonomasia is now not confined to the belles-lettres style. It is often
found in publicistic style, that is, in magazine and newspaper articles, in essays and
also in military language. The following are examples:
"I say this to our American friends. Mr. Facing-Both-Ways does not get very far in
this world." (The Times)
"I suspect that the Noes and Don't Knows would far outnumber the Yesses" (The
Spectator)
So far we have dealt with a variety of antonomasia in which common words with
obvious logical meaning are given nominal meaning without losing their primary,
basic significance. But antonomasia can ^Iso make a word which now has a basic
nominal meaning acquire a ge-. neric signification, thus supplying the word with an
additional logical meaning. The latter can only be deciphered if the events connected
with a certain place mentioned or with a conspicuous feature of a person are well
known. Thus, the word Dunkirk now means 4he evacuation of troops under heavy
bombardment before it is too late', Sedan means *a complete defeat', Coventry—'the
destruction of a city by air raids', a quizling now means 'a traitor who aids occupying
enemy forces'.
The spelling of these words demonstrates the stages by which proper nouns acquire
new, logical meanings: some of them are still spelt with capital letters (geographical
names), others are already spelt with small letters showing that a new word with a
primary logical meaning has already come into existence.
This variety of antonomasia is not so widely used as a stylistic device, most probably
due to the nature of words with nominal meaning: they tell very Jittle or even nothing
about the bearer of the name,
C. INTENSIFICATION OF A CERTAIN FEATURE OF A THING OR
PHENOMENON
In order to understand the linguistic nature of the SDs of this group it is necessary to
clear 4up some problems, so far untouched, of d e f i n i-t i о п as a philosophical
category, Any definition can point out only one or two properties of a phenomenon*
Therefore in building up a definition the definer tries to single out the most essential
features of the object. These are pinned down by the definer through a long period of
observation of the object, its functioning, its growth and its changes.
However, no definition can comprise all the inner qualities of the object and new
combinations of it with other objects as well; a deeper penetration into the ontology of
the object will always reveal some hitherto unknown qualities and features.
In the third group of stylistic devices, which we now come to, we find that one of the
qualities of the object in question is made to sound essential, This is an entirely
different principle from that on which the second
group is based, that of interaction between two lexical meanings simultaneously
materialized in the context. In this third group the quality picked out may be
seemingly unimportant, and it is frequently transitorv but for a special reason it is
elevated to the greatest importance and made into a telling feature,
Simile
Things are best of all learned by simile. V. G. Belinsky
The intensification of some one feature of the concept in question is realized in a
device called simile. Ordinary comparison and simile must not be confused. They
represent two diverse processes. Comparison means weighing two objects belonging
to one class of things with the purpose of establishing the degree of their sameness or
difference. To use a simile is to characterize one object by bringing it into contact
with another object belonging to an entirely different class of things. Comparison
takes into consideration all the properties of the two objects, stressing the one that is
compared. Simile excludes all the properties of the two objects except one which is
made common to them. For exampULJiZfe-L boy seemsJo be as clever as his mother'
is ordinary comparison. 'Boy' and ^fflotKeF belong to the same class of objects—
human beings—so this is not a simile but ordinary comparison.
But in the sentence:
"Maidens, like moths, are ever caught by glare" (Byron), we have a simile. 'Maidens'
and 'moths' belong to heterogeneous classes of objects and Byron has found the
concept moth to indicate one of the secondary features of the concept maiden, i.e.
being easily lured. Of the two concepts brought together in the simile—one
characterized (maidens), and the other characterizing (moths)—the feature intensified
will be more inherent in the latter than in the former. Moreover, the object
characterized is seen in quite a new and unexpected light, because the writer, as it
were, imposes this feature on it.
Similes forcibly set one object against another regardless of the fact that they may be
completely alien to each other. And without our being aware of it, the simile gives
rise to a new understanding of the object characterizing as well as of the object
characterized.
The properties of an object may be viewed from different angles, for example, its
state, actions, manners, etc. Accordingly, similes may be based on adjective-
attributes, adverb-modifiers, verb-predicates, etc.
Similes have formal elements in their structure: connective words such as like, as,
such as, as if, seem. Here are some examples of similes taken from various sources
and illustrating the variety of structural designs of this stylistic device.
"His mind was restless, but it worked perversely and thoughts Jerked through his
brain like the misfirings of a defective carburettor" (Maugham
The structure of this simile is interesting, for it is sustained. Let us analyse it. The
word 'jerked' in the'micro-context, i.e. in combination with 'thoughts' is a metaphor,
which led to the simile 'like the misfir-ings of a defective carburettor' where the verb
to jerk carries its direct logical meaning. So the linking notion is the movement
jerking which brings to the author's mind a resemblance between the working of the
man's brain and the badly working, i.e. misfiring, carburettor. In other words, it is
action that is described by means of a simile. Another example:
"It was that moment of the year when the countryside seems to faint from its own
loveliness, from the intoxication of its scents and sounds." (J. Galsworthy)
This is an example of a simile which is half a metaphor. If not for the structural word
'seems', we would call it a metaphor. Indeed, if we drop the word 'seems* and say,
"the countryside faints from...," the clue-word 'faint' becomes a metaphor. But the
word 'seems' keeps apart the notions of stillness and fainting. It is a simile where the
second member—the human being—is only suggested by means of the concept faint.
The semantic nature of the simile-forming elements seem and as if is such that they
only remotely suggest resemblance. Quite 'different are the connectives like and as.
These are more categorical and establish quite straightforwardly the analogy between
the two objects in question.
Sometimes the simile-forming like is placed at the end of the phrase almost merging
with it and becoming half-suffix, for example:
"Emily Barton was very pink, very Dresden-china-shepherdess like."
In simple non-figurative language, it will assume the following form: "Emily Barton
was very pink, and looked like a Dresden-china-shepherdess"
Similes may suggest analogies in the character of actions performed. In this case the
two members of the structural design of the simile will resemble each other through
the actions they perform. Thus:
"The Liberals have plunged for entry without considering its effects, while, the
Labour leaders like cautious bathers have put a timorous toe info the water and
promptly withdrawn it"
The simile in this passage from a newspaper article 'like cautious bathers' is based on
the simultaneous realization of the two meanings of the word plunge. The primary
meaning 'to throw oneself into the water'—prompted the figurative periphrasis 'have
put a timorous toe into the water and promptly withdrawn it' standing for 'have
abstained from
taking action.'
In the English language there is a long list of hackneyed similes pointing out the
analogy between the various qualities, states or actions of a human being and the
animals supposed to be the bearers of the given quality, etc,, for example:
treacherous as a snake, sly as a fox, busy as a bee, industrious as an -ant, blind as a
bat, faithful as a dog, to work like a horse, to be led like a sheep, to fly like a bird, to
swim like a duck, stubborn as a mule, hungry as a bear, thirsty as a camel, to act like a
puppy, playful as a kitten, vain (proud) as a peacock, slow as a tortoise and many
others of the same type.
These combinations, however, have ceased to be genuine similes and have become
cliches (see p. 177) in which the second component has become merely an adverbial
intensifier. Its logical meaning is only vaguely perceived,
Periphrasis
Periphrasis is a device which, according to Webster's dictionary, denotes the use of a
longer phrasing in place of a possible shorter and plainer form of expression. It is also
called circumlocution due to the round-about or indirect way used to name a familiar
object or phenomenon. Viewed from the angle of its linguistic nature, periphrasis
represents the renaming of an object and as such may be considered along with a
more general group of word designations replacing the direct names of their denotata.
One and the same object may be identified in different ways and accordingly acquire
different appelations. Thus, in different situations a certain person can be denoted, for
instance, as either 'his benefactor', or 'this bore', or 'the narrator', or 'the wretched
witness', etc. These names will be his only in a short fragment of the discourse, the
criterion of their choice being furnished by the context. Such naming units may be
called secondary, textually-confined designations and are generally composed of a
word-combination.
This device has a long history. It was widely used in the Bible and in Homer's Iliad.
As a poetic device it was very popular in Latin poetry (Virgil). Due to this influence it
became an important feature of epic and descriptive poetry throughout the Middle
Ages and into the Renaissance. It is due to this practice of re-naming things that
periphrasis became one of the most favoured devices in the 17th and 18th centuries
giving birth even to a special trend in literature in France and other countries called
periphrastic. There exists in English a whole battery of phrases which are still used as
periphrastic synonyms (see below) for ordinary denominations of things and
phenomena.
V. N. Yartseva quotes S. K. Workman, an English literature scholar who states that
"the most pervasive element in the^aureate style—and the most vitiating—was
periphrasis." Prof. Yartseva states that the use of periphrasis in the 16th century was
in the nature of embellishment, thus justifying the attribute aureate, and that
periphrasis became a feature of a definite literary style.1
As a SD, periphrasis aims at pointing to one of the seemingly insignificant or barely
noticeable features or properties of the given object, and
intensifies this property by naming the object by the property. Periphrasis makes the
reader perceive the new appellation against the background of the one existing in the
language code and the twofold simultaneous perception secures the stylistic effect. At
the same time periphrasis, like simile, has a certain cognitive function inasmuch as it
deepens our knowledge of the phenomenon described. The essence of the device is
that it is decipherable only in context. If a periphrastic locution is understandable
outside the context, it is not a stylistic device but merely a synonymous expression.
Such easily decipherable periphrases are also called traditional, dictionary or language
periphrases. The others are speech periphrases. Here are some examples of well-
known dictionary periphrases (periphrastic synonyms):
the cap and gown (student body); a gentleman of the long robe (a lawyer); the fair sex
(women); my better half (my wife).
Most periphrastic synonyms are strongly associated with the sphere of their
application and the epoch they were used in. Feudalism, for example, gave birth to a
cluster of periphrastic synonyms of the word king, as: the leader of hosts; the giver of
rings; the protector of earls; the victor lord. A play of swords meant 'a battle'; a battle-
seat was 'a saddle'; a shield-bearer was 'a warrior'.
Traditional, language or dictionary periphrases and the words they stand for are
synonyms by nature, the periphrasis being expressed by a word-combination.
Periphrasis as a stylistic device is a new, genuine nomination of an object, a process
which realizes the power of language to coin new names for objects by disclosing
some quality of the object, even though it may be transitory, and making it alone
represent the object, Here are some such stylistic periphrases:
"I understand you are poor, and wish to earn money by nursing the little boy,,niy son,
who has been so prematurely deprived of what can never ^be replaced." (Dickens)
The object clause 'what can never be replaced' is a periphrasis for the word mother.
The concept is easily understood by the reader within the given context, the latter
being the only code which makes the deciphering of the phrase possible. This is
sufficiently proved by a simple transformational operation, viz. taking the phrase out
of its context. The meaning of 'what can never be replaced' used independently will
bear no reference to the concept mother and may be interpreted in many ways. The
periphrasis here expresses a very-individual idea of the concept.
Here is another stylistic periphrasis which the last phrase in the sentence deciphers:
"And Harold stands upon the place of skulls,
The grave of France, the deadly Waterloo," (Byron)
In the following:
"The hoarse, dull drum would sleep, And Man be happy yet." (Byron
the periphrasis can only be understood from a larger context, referring to the concept
war. 'The hoarse, dull drum' is a metonymical periphrasis for war.
In some cases periphrasis is regarded as a demerit and should have no place in good,
precise writing. This kind of periphrasis is generally called circumlocution. Thus
Richard Altick states that one of the ways of obscuring truth "...is the use of
circumlocutions and euphemisms." l
A round-about way of speaking about common things sometimes has an unnecessarily
bombastic, pompous air and consequently is devoid of any aesthetic value. That is
why periphrasis has gained the reputation of leading to redundancy of expression.
Here is an example of the excessive use of periphrasis by such an outstanding classic
English writer as Dickens:
"The lamp-lighter made his nightly failure in attempting to brighten up the street with
gas (= lit the street lamps)."
In spite of the danger of being called "blasphemer", I venture to state that Dickens
favoured redundant periphrastic expressions, seeing in them a powerful means to
impose on his readers his own assessment of events and people. Here is another of his
periphrases:
"But an addition to the little party now made its appearance (= another person came
in)."
In characterizing the individual manner of a bad writer, V* G. Be-linsky says:
"One is particularly struck by the art he displays in the use of periphrasis: one and the
same thought, simple and empty as, for example, 'wooden tables are made of wood',
drags along in a string of long sentences, periods, tropes and figures of speech; he
turns it around and around, extends it pages long and sprinkles it with punctuation
marks. Everything is so flowery, everywhere there is such an abundance of epithets
and imagery that the inexperienced reader marvels at these 'purple'patches' of jewelled
prose,—and his fascination vanishes only when he puts a question to himself as to the
content of the flamboyant article: for to his surprise in lieu of any content he finds
mere woolly phrases and > fluffy self-conceit. This kind of writing often appears in
the West, I particularly since the West began to rot; here in Russia where authorship
has not yet become a habit, such phenomena are hardly possible”"2
The means supplied to enable the reader to decipher stylistic periphrasis are very
subtle and have aesthetic value. In the following example the word of address is the
key to the periphrasis:
"Papa, love. I am a mother. I have a child who will soon call Walter by the name by
which I call you." (Dickens)
In some cases the author relies entijelj-on the erudition of the reader to decipher the
periphrasis. Thus in the following example:
"Of his four sons, only two could be found sufficiently without the '<?' to go on
making ploughs." (Galsworthy)
The letter 'e' in some proper names is considered an indirect indication of noble or
supposed noble descent, cf. Moreton and Morion, Srnythe and Smith, Browne and
Brown, Wilde (Oscar) and Wyld (Cecil). The italicized phrase is a roundabout way of
stating that two of his sons were unaristocratic enough to work at making ploughs.
Genuine poetical periphrasis sometimes depicts the effect without mentioning the
cause, gives particulars when having in view the general, points out one trait which
will represent the whole. Stylistic periphrasis, it must be repeated, like almost all
lexical stylistic means, must efficiently and intentionally introduce a dichotomy, in
this case the dichotomy of two designations for one object or idea. If it fails to do so,
there is no stylistic device, only a hackneyed phrase.
Periphrases, once original but now hackneyed, are often to be found in newspaper
language. Mr. J. Donald Adams, who has written a number of articles and books on
the use of English words in different contexts, says in one of his articles:
"We are all familiar with these examples of distended English, and I shall pause for
only one, quoted by Theodore M. Bernstein, who as assistant managing editor of this
newspaper acts as guardian over the English employed in its news columns. It appears
in his recent book, "Watch Your Language", and reads "Improved financial support
and less onerous work loads." Translation (by Clifton Daniel): "High pay and less
work.1' l
Here is another example of a well-known, traditional periphrasis which has become
established as a periphrastic synonym:
<rAfter only a short4* time of marriage, he wasn't prepared to offer advice to other
youngsters intending to tie the knot... But, he said, he's looking forward to having a
family." (from a newspaper article)
Here we have a periphrasis meaning to marry (to tie the knot). It has long been
hackneyecLpnd may be called a cliche. The difference between a cliche and a
periphrastic synonym lies in the degree to which the periphrasis has lost its vigour. In
cliches we still sense the dichotomy of the original clash between the words forming a
semantic unity; in periphrastic synonyms the clash is no longer felt unless the
synonyms are subjected to etymological analysis.
In such collocations as 'I am seeing things', or 'I'm hearing bells' we hardly ever
perceive the novelty of the phrases and are apt to understand them for what they stand
for now in modern colloquial English, i.e. to have hallucinations. Therefore these
phrases must be recognized as
periphrastic colloquial synonyms of the concepts delirium or hallucinations.
Stylistic periphrasis can also be divided into logical and / i g-u r a t i v e. Logical
periphrasis is based on one of the inherent properties or perhaps a passing feature of
the object described, as in instruments of destruction (Dickens) = 'pistols'; the most
pardonable of human weaknesses (Dickens) —'love'; the object of his admiration
(Dickens); that proportion of the population which... is yet able to read words of more
than one syllable, and to read them without perceptible movement of the lips ^'half-
literate'.
Figurative periphrasis is based either on metaphor or on metonymy, the key-word of
the collocation being the word used figuratively, as in 'the punctual servant of all
work' (Dickens) --^'the sun'; 'in disgrace with fortune and men's eyes' (Sh.akespeare)
='in misfortune'; 'to tie the knot' ='to marry'.
There is little difference between metaphor or metonymy, on the one hand, and
figurative periphrasis, on the other. It is the structural aspect of the periphrasis, which
always presupposes a word-combination, that is the reason for the division.
Euphemism
There is a variety of periphrasis which we shall call euphemistic.
Euphemism, as is known, is a word or phrase used to replace an unpleasant word or
expression by a conventionally more acceptable one, for example, the word 'to die'
has bred the following euphemisms: to pass away, to expire, to be no more, to depart,
to join the majority, to be gone, and the more facetious ones: to kick the bucket, to
give up the ghost, to go west. So euphemisms are synonyms which aim at producing a
deliberately mild effect.
The origin of the term 'euphemism' discloses the aim of the device very clearly, i.e.
speaking well (from Greek—eu = well + -pheme = speaking). In the vocabulary of
any language, synonyms can be found that soften an otherwise coarse or unpleasant
idea. Euphemism is sometimes figuratively called "a whitewashing device".. The
linguistic peculiarity of euphemism lies in the fact that every euphemism must call up
a definite synonym in the mind of the reader or listener. This synonym, or dominant
in a group of synonyms, as it is often called, must follow the euphemism like a
shadow, as 'to possess a vivid imagination', or 'to tell stories' in the proper context will
call up the unpleasant verb to lie. The euphemistic synonyms given above are part of
the language-as-a-system. They have not been freshly invented. They are expressive
means of the language and are to be found in all good dictionaries. They cannot be
regarded as stylistic devices because they do not call to mind the keyword or
dominant of the group; in other words, they refer the mind to the concept directly, not
through the medium of another word. Compare these euphemisms with the following
from Dickens's "Pickwick Papers": "They think we have come by this horse in some
dishonest manner"
The italicized parts call forth the word 'steal' (have stolen it).
Euphemisms may be divided into several groups according to their spheres of
application. The most recognized are the following: 1) religious, 2) moral, 3) medical
and 4) parliamentary.
The life of euphemisms is short. They very soon become closely associated with the
referent (the object named) and give way to a newly-coined word or combination of
words, which, being the sign of a sign, throws another veil over an unpleasant or
indelicate concept. Here is an interesting excerpt from an article on this subject.
"The evolution over the years of a civilized mental health service has been marked by
periodic changes in terminology. The madhouse became the lunatic asylum; the
asylum made way for the mental hospital—even if the building remained the same.
Idiots, imbeciles and the feeble-minded became low, medium and high-grade mental
defectives. All are now to be lumped together as patients of severely subnormal
personality. The insane became persons of unsound mind, and are now to be
mentally-ill patients. As each phrase develops the stigmata of popular prejudice, it is
abandoned in favour of another, sometimes less precise than the old. Unimportant in
themselves, these changes of name are the signposts of progress." l
Albert C. Baugh gives another instance of such changes:
"...the common word for a woman's undergarment down to the eighteenth century was
'smock'. It was then replaced by the more delicate word 'shift'® In the nineteenth
century the same motive led to the substitution of the word 'chemise' and in the
twentieth this has been replaced by 'combinations', 'step-ins', and other euphemisms,"
2
Today we have a number of words denoting similar garments, as 'briefs', and others. ^
Conventional euphemisms--employed in conformity to social usages are best
illustrated by the parliamentary codes of expression. In an article headed "In
Commons, a Lie is Inexactitude" written by James Fe-ron in The New York Times,
we may find a number of words that are not to be used in Parliamentary debate.
"When Sir Winston Churchill, some years ago," writes Feron, "termed a
parliamentary opponent a 'purveyor of terminological inexactitudes',.every one in the
chamber knew he meant 'liar'. Sir Winston hacT been ordered by the Speaker to
withdraw a stronger epithet. So he used the euphemism, which became famous and is
still used in the Commons. It conveyed the insult without sounding offensive, and it
satisfied the Speaker." 3 -
The author further points out that certain words, for instance, traitor and coward, are
specifically banned in the House of Commons because earlier Speakers have ruled
them disorderly or unparliamentary, Speakers
have decided that jackass is unparliamentary but goose is acceptable; dog, rat and
swine are out of order, but halfwit and Tory clot are in order.
We also learn from this article that "a word cannot become the subject of
parliamentary ruling unless a member directs the attention of the Speaker to it." *
The changes in designating objects disclose the true nature of the relations between
words and their referents. We must admit that there is a positive magic in words and,
as Prof, Randolph Quirk has it,
"...we are liable to be dangerously misled through being mesmerized by a word or
through mistaking a word for its referent." 2
This becomes particularly noticeable in connection with what are called political
euphemisms. These are really understatements, the aim of which is to mislead public
opinion and to express what is unpleasant in a more delicate manner. Sometimes
disagreeable facts are even distorted with the help of a euphemistic expression. Thus
the headline in one of the British newspapers "Tension in Kashmir" was to hide the
fact that there was a real uprising in that area; "Undernourishment of children in
India" stood for 'starvation'. In A. J. Cronin's novel "The Stars Look Down" one of the
members of Parliament, referring to the words "Undernourishment of children in
India" says: "Honourable Members of the House understand the meaning of this polite
euphemism." By calling undernourishment a polite euphemism he discloses the true
meaning of the word.
An interesting article dealing with the question of "political euphemisms" appeared in
"Литературная газета" § written by the Italian journalist Entzo Rava and headed
"The Vocabulary of the Bearers of the Burden of Power." In this article Entzo Rava
wittily discusses the euphemisms of the Italian capitalist press, which seem to have
been borrowed from the American and English press. Thus, for instance, he
mockingly states that capitalists have disappeared from Italy. When the adherents of
capitalism find it necessary to mention capitalists, they replace the word capitalist by
the combination 'free enterprisers', the word profit is replaced by 'savings', the
building up of labour reserves stands for 'unemployment', 'dismissal' ('discharge',
'firing') of workers is the reorganization of the enterprise, etc.
As has already been explained, genuine euphemism must call up the word it stands
for. It is always the result of some deliberate clash between two synonyms. If a
euphemism fails to carry along with it the word it is intended to replace, it is not a
euphemism, but a deliberate veiling of the truth. All these building up of labour
reserves, -savings, free enterprisers and the like are not intended to give the referent
its true name, but to distort the truth. The above expressions serve that purpose.
Compare these word-combinations with real euphemisms, like a four-letter word (=
an obscenity); or a woman of a certain type (= a prostitute, a whore); to
glow •(= to sweat), all of which bring to our mind the other word (words) and only
through them the referent.
Here is another good example of euphemistic phrases used by Galsworthy in his
"Silver Spoon."
"In private I should merely call him a liar. In the Press you should use the words:
'Reckless disregard for truth1 and in Parliament—that you regret he 'should have been
so misinformed.''"
Periphrastic and euphemistic expressions were characteristic of certain literary trends
and even produced a term periphrastic style. But it soon gave way to a more
straightforward way of describing things.
"The veiled forms of expression," writes G. H. McKnight, "which served when one
was unwilling to look facts in the face have been succeeded by naked expressions
exhibiting reality."1
Hyperbole
Another SD which also has the function of intensifying one certain property of the
object described is h у p e r b о I e. It can be defined as a deliberate overstatement or
exaggeration of a feature essential (unlike periphrasis) to the object or phenomenon.
In its extreme form this exaggeration is carried to an illogical degree, sometimes ad
absurdum. For example:
"He was so tall that I was not sure he had a face." (O. Henry) or, "Those three words
(Dombey and Son) conveyed the one idea of Mr. Dombey's life. The earth was made
for Dombey and Son to trade in and the sun and moon were made to give them light.
Rivers and seas were formed to float their ships; rainbows gave them promise of fair
weather; winds blew for or against their enterprises; st^rs and planets circled in their
orbits to preserve inviolate a system of which they were the centre." (Dickens)
In order to depict the width of the river Dnieper Gogol uses the following hyperbole:
"It's a rare bird that can fly to the middle of the Dnieper."
Like many stylistic.devices, hyperbole may lose its quality as a stylistic device
through frequent repetition and become a unit of the lan-guage-as-a-system,
reproduced -in speech in its unaltered form. Here are some examples of language
hyperbole:
*A thousand pardons'; 'scared to death\ 'immensely obliged;' 'I'd give the world to see
him.'
Byron says:
"When people say "Tve told you fifty times" They mean to scold, and very often do."
Hyperbole differs from mere exaggeration in that it is intended to be understood as an
exaggeration. In this connection the following quotations deserve a passing note:
"Hyperbole is the result of a kind of intoxication by emotion, which prevents a person
from seeing things in their true dimensions... If the reader (listener) is not carried
away by the emotion of the writer (speaker), hyperbole becomes a mere lie." *
V. V. Vinogradov, developing Gorki's statement that "genuine art enjoys the right to
exaggerate," states that hyperbole is the law of art which brings the existing
phenomena of life, diffused as they are, to the point of maximum clarity and
conciseness.2
Hyperbole is a device which sharpens the reader's ability to make a logical assessment
of the utterance. This is achieved, as is the case with other devices, by awakening the
dichotomy of thought and feeling where thought takes the upper hand though not to
the detriment of feeling.

D. PECULIAR USE OF SET EXPRESSIONS


In language studies there are two very clearly-marked tendencies that the student
should never lose sight of, particularly when dealing with the problem of word-
combination. They are 1) the analytical tendency, which seeks to dissever one
component from another and 2) the synthetic tendency which seeks to integrate the
parts of the combination into a stable unit.
These two tendencies are treated in different ways in lexicology and stylistics. In
lexicology the parts of a stable lexical unit may be separated in order to make a
scientific investigation of the character of the combination and to analyse the
components. In stylistics we analyse the component parts in order to get at some
communicative effect sought by the writer. It is this communicative effect and the
means employed to achieve it that Jie within the domain of stylistics.
The integrating tendency also is closely studied in the realm of lexicology, especially
when linguistic scholars seek to fix what seems to be a stable word-combination and
ascertain the degree of its stability, its variants and so on. The integrating tendency is
also within the domain of stylistics, particularly when the word-combination has not
yet formed itself as a lexical unit but is in the process of being so formed.
Here we are faced with the problem of what is called the cliche.
The Cliche
A cliche is generally defined as an expression that has become hackneyed and trite.
As Random House Dictionary has it, "a cliche ... has lost originality, ingenuity, and
impact by long over-use..."
This flefinition lacks one point that should be emphasized; that is, a cliche strives
after originality, whereas it has lost the aesthetic generating power it once had. There
is always a contradiction between what is aimed at and what is actually attained.
Examples of real cliches are 'rosy dreams of youth', 'the patter of little feet',
'deceptively simple'.
Definitions taken from various dictionaries show that cliche is a derogatory term and
it is therefore necessary to avoid anything that may be called by that name. But the
fact is that most of the widely recognized word-combinations which have been
adopted by the language are unjustly classified as cliches. The aversion for cliches has
gone so far that most of the lexical units based on simile (see p. 167) are branded as
cliches. In an interesting article entitled "Great Cliche Debate" published in the New
York Times Magazine l we can read the pros and cons concerning cliches. The article
is revealing on one main point. It illustrates the fact that an uncertain or vague term
will lead to various and even conflicting interpretations of the idea embodied in the
term. What, indeed, do the words 'stereotyped', 'hackneyed', 'trite* convey to the
mind? First of all they indicate that the phrase is in common use. Is this a demerit?
Not at all. On the contrary: something common, habitual, devoid of novelty is the
only admissible expression in some types of communications. In the article just
mentioned one of the debaters objects to the phrase 'Jack-of-all-trades' and suggests
that it should be "one who can turn his hand to any (or to many kinds of) work." His
opponent naturally rejects the substitute on the grounds that 'Jack of all trades' may, as
he says, have long ceased to be vivid or original, but his substitute never was. And it
is fourteen words instead of four. "Determine to avoid cliches at all costs and you are
almost certain to be led into gobbledygook."2
Debates of this kind proceed from a grossly mistaken notion that the term 'cliche' is
used to denote all stable word-combinations, whereas it was coined,*to denote^word-
combinations which have long lost their novelty and become trite,' but which are used
as if they were fresh and original and so have become irritating to people who are
sensitive to the language they hear and read. What is familiar should not be given a
derogatory label. On the contrary, if it has become familiar, that means it has won
general recognition and by iteration has been accepted as a unit of the language.
But the process of Being acknowledged as a unit of language is slow. It is next to
impossible to foretell what may be accepted as a unit of the language and what may
be rejected and cast away as being unfit, inappropriate, alien to the internal laws of
the language,or failing to meet the demand of the language community for stable
word-combinations to designate new notions. Hence the two conflicting ideas:
language should always be fresh, vigorous and expressive, and, on the other hand,
language, as a common tool for intercommunication, should make use
of units that are easily understood and which require little or no effort to convey the
idea and to grasp it.
R. D. Altick in his "Preface to Critical Reading" condemns every word sequence in
which what follows can easily be predicted from what precedes.
"When does an expression become a cliche? There can be no definite answer, because
what is trite to one person may still be fresh to another. But a great many expressions
are universally understood to be so threadbare as to be useless except in the most
casual discourse... A good practical test is this: If, when you are listening to a speaker,
you can accurately anticipate what he is going to say next, he is pretty certainly using
cliches, otherwise he would be constantly surprising you." l
Then he gives examples, like We are gathered here to-day to mourn ('the untimely
death') of our beloved leader...; Words are inadequate ('to express the grief that is in
our hearts').
"Similarly when you read," he goes on, "if one word almost inevitably invites another,
if you can read half of the words and know pretty certainly what the other are, you are
reading cliches."
And then again come illustrations, like We watched the flames ('licking') at the side of
the building. A pall ('of smoke') hung thick over the neighbourhood...', He heard a
dull ('thud') which was followed by an ominous ('silence').2
This passage shows that the author has been led into the erroneous notion that
everything that is predictable is a cliche. He is confusing useful word-combinations
circulating in speech as members of the word-stock of the language with what claims
to be genuine, original and vigorous. All word-combinations that do not surprise are
labelled as cliches. If we agree with such an understanding of the term, we must admit
that the following stable and necessary word-combinations used in newspaper
language must be viewed as cliches: 'effective guarantees', 'immediate issues', 'the
whip and carrot policy1, 'statement of policy9, 'to maintain some equilibrium between
reliable sources', 'buffer zone 'he laid it down equally clearly that...' and so on.
R. D. Altick thus denounces as cliches such verb- and noun-phrases as 'to live to a
ripe old age', 'to grow by leaps and bounds1, 'to withstand me test of time', 'to let
bygones be bygones', 'to be unable to see the wood for the trees', 'to upset the apple-
cart', 'to have an ace up one's sleeve'. And^finally he rejects such word-combinations
as*'the full flush of victory', “the patter of rain', 'part and parcel', 'a diamond in the
rough' and the like on the grounds that they have outlasted their freshness. 3
In his protest against hackneyed phrases, Altick has gone so far as to declare that
people have adopted phrases like 'clock-work precision',
'tight-lipped (or stony) silence', 'crushing defeat', 'bumper-to-bumper traffic', 'sky-
rocketing costs' and the like"... as a way of evading their obligation to make their own
language."1
Of course, if instead of making use of the existing means of communication, i. e. the
language of the community, people are to coin "their own language," then Altick is
right. But nobody would ever think such an idea either sound or reasonable. The set
expressions of a language are 'part and parcel' of the vocabulary of the language and
cannot be dispensed with by merely labelling them cliches.
However, at every period in the development of a language, there appear strange
combinations of words which arouse suspicion as to their meaning and connotation.
Many of the new-born word-combinations in modern English, both in their American
and British variants, have been made fun of because their meaning is still obscure,
and therefore they are used rather loosely. Recently in the New'York Times such cli-
ches as 'speaking realization', 'growing awareness', 'rising expectations', 4o think
unthinkable thoughts' and others were wittily criticized by a journalist who showed
that ordinary rank-and-file American people do not understand these new word-
combinations, just as they fail to understand certain neologisms, as opt (= to make a
choice), and revived words, as deem (= to consider, to believe to be) and others and
reject them or use them wrongly.
But as history has proved, the protest of too-zealous purists often fails to bar the way
to all kinds of innovations into standard English. Illustrative in this respect is the
protest made by Byron in his "Don Juan":
and also:
or:
''...'free to confess'—(whence comes this phrase? Is't English? No—'tis only
parliamentary)."
"Л strange coincidence to use a phrase
By which-such44 things are settled nowadays."
"The march of Science (How delightful these cliches are!)..."
(Aldington)
Byron, being very sensitive to the aesthetic aspect of his native language, could not
help observing the triteness of the phrases he comments on, but at the same time he
accepts them as ready-made units. Language has its strength and its weaknesses. A
linguistic scholar must be equipped with methods of stylistic analysis to ascertain the
writer's aim, the situation in which the communication takes place and possibly the
impact on the reader, to decide whether or not a phrase is a cliche or "the right word
in the right place". If he does not take into consideration all the properties of the given
word or word-combination, the intricacies of language units may become a trap for
him.
Ibid.
Men-of-letters, if they are real artists, use the stock of expressive phrases contained in
the language naturally and easily, and well-known phrases never produce the
impression of being cliches,
Proverbs and Sayings
Proverbs and sayings are facts of language. They are collected in dictionaries. There
are special dictionaries of proverbs and sayings. It is impossible to arrange proverbs
and sayings in a form that would present a pattern even though they have some typical
features by which it is 1 possible to determine whether or not we are dealing with one.
These [typical features are: rhythm, sometimes rhyme and/or alliteration. But the most
characteristic feature of a proverb or a saying lies not |fn its formal linguistic
expression, but in the content-form of the utter-pnce. As is known, a proverb or a
saying is a peculiar mode of utterance Vhich is mainly characterized by its brevity.
The utterance itself, taken at Bits face value, presents a pattern which can be
successfully used for other liitterances. The peculiarity of the use of a proverb lies in
the fact that Ithe actual wording becomes a pattern which needs no new wording to
[suggest extensions of meaning which are contextual. In other words, la proverb
presupposes a simultaneous application of two meanings: [the face-value or primary
meaning, and an extended meaning drawn Hrom the context, but bridled by the face-
value meaning. In other words, [the proverb itself becomes a vessel into which new
content is poured. IThe actual wording of a proverb, its primary meaning, narrows the
[field of possible extensions of meaning, i. e. the filling up of the form. •That is why
we may regard the proverb as a pattern of thought. Soit is I'm every other case at any
other level of linguistic research. Abstract [formulas offer a wider range of possible
applications to practical pur-Iposes than concrete words, though they have the same
purpose.
Almost every good writer will make use of language idioms, by-[phrases and
proverbs. As Gorki has it, they are the natural ways in ^hich speech develops.
Proverbs and sayings have certain purely linguistic features which [must always be
taken into account in order to distinguish them from [ordinary sentences. Proverbs are
brief statements showing in condensed [form the accumulated life experience of the
community and serving as |conventional practical symbols for abstract ideas. They are
usually I didactic and image bearing. Many of them through frequency of repetition
have become polished and wrought into verse-like shape, as in the [following:
"to cut one's coat according to one's cloth."
"Early to bed and early to rise,
Makes a man healthy, wealthy and wise."
Brevity in proverbs manifests itself also in the omission of connec-|fives, as in:
"First come, first served." "Out of sight, out of mind."
But the main feature distinguishing proverbs and sayings from ordinary utterances
remains their semantic aspect. Their literal meaning is suppressed by what may be
termed their transferred meaning. In other words, one meaning (literal) is the form for
another meaning (transferred) which contains the idea. Proverbs and sayings, if used
appropriately, will never lose their freshness and vigour. The most noticeable thing
about the functioning of sayings, proverbs and catch-phrases is that they may be
handled not in their fixed form (the traditional model) but with modifications. These
modifications, however, will never break away from the invariants to such a degree
that the correlation between the invariant model of a word-combination and its variant
ceases to be perceived by the reader. The predictability of a variant of a word-
combination is lower in comparison with its invariant. Therefore the use of such a unit
in a modified form will always arrest our attention, causing a much closer
examination of the wording of the utterance in order to get at the idea. Thus, the
proverb 'all is not gold that glitters' appears in Byron's "Don Juan" in the following
form and environment where at first the meaning may seem obscure:
"How all the needy honourable misters,
Each out-at-elbow peer or desperate dandy,
The watchful mothers, and the careful sisters (Who, by the by, when clever, are more
handy
At making matches where "t'is gold that glisters" l' Than their he relatives), like flies
o'er candy
Buzz round the Fortune with their busy battery,
To turn her head with waltzing and with flattery."
Out of the well-known proverb Byron builds a periphrasis, the meaning of which is
deciphered two lines below: 'the Fortune', that is, 'a marriageable heiress').
It has already been.pointed out that Byron is fond of playing with stable word-
combinations,.sometimes injecting new vigour into the components, sometimes
entirely disregarding the semantic unity of the combination. In the following lines, for
instance, each word of the phrase safe and sound gets its full meaning.
"I leave Don Juan for the present, safe— Not sound, poor fellow, but severely
wounded;"
The proverb Hell is paved with good intentions and the set expression to mean well
are used by Byron in a peculiar way, thus making the reader re-appraise the
hackneyed phrases.
(< ................ if he warr'd
Or loved, it was with what we call the best Intentions, which form all mankind's
trump card,
To be produced when brought up to the test, The statesman, hero, harlot, lawyer—
ward
Off each attack, when people are in quest
1 the archaic form of glitters
Of their designs, by saying they meant well. ['Tis pity that such meaning should pave
hell"
The stylistic effect produced by such uses of proverbs and sayings is the result of a
twofold application of language means, which, as has already been emphasized, is an
indispensable condition for the appearance of all stylistic devices. The modified form
of the proverb is perceived against the background of the fixed form, thus enlivening
the latter. Sometimes this injection of new vigour into the proverb causes a slight
semantic re-evaluation of its generally accepted meaning. When a proverb is used in
its unaltered form it can be qualified as an expressive means (EM) of the language;
when used in a modified variant it assumes the one of the features of an SD, it
acquires a stylistic meaning, though not becoming an SD.
We shall take only a few of the numerous examples of the stylistic use of proverbs
and sayings to illustrate the possible ways of decomposing the units in order simply to
suggest the idea behind them:
"Come!" he said, "milk's spilt." (Galsworthy) (from 'It is no use crying over spilt
milk!').
"But to all that moving experience there had been a shadow (a dark lining to the silver
cloud), insistent and plain, which disconcerted her," (Maugham) (from 'Every cloud
has a silver lining').
"We were dashed uncomfortable in the frying pan, but we should have been a damned
sight worse off in the fire" (Maugham) (from 'Out of the frying-pan into the fire').
"You know which side the law's buttered." (Galsworthy) (from 'His bread is buttered
on both sides').
This device is used not only in the belles-lettres style. Here are some instances from
newspapers and magazines illustrating the stylistic use of proverbs, sayings and other
word-combinations:
"...and whether the Ministry of Economrc Warfare is being allowed enough financial
rope to do its worst." (from 'Give a thief rope enough and he'll hang himself).
"The waters will remain sufficiently troubled for somebody's fishing to be profitable"
(Economist) (from 'It is good fishing in troubled waters').
A newspaper editorial once had the following headline:
"Proof of the Pudding" (from 'The proof of the pudding is in the eating').
Here is a recast of a well-known proverb used by an advertizing agency:
"Early to bed and early to rise
No use—unless you advertize"
(from 'Early to bed and early to rise* }
Makes a man healthy, wealthy and wise')*
Notice this recast by Lewis Carroll of a well-known saying:1
"Take care of the sense and the sounds will take care of themselves."
Epigrams
An epigram is a stylistic device akin to a proverb, the only difference being that
epigrams are coined by individuals whose names we know, while proverbs are the
coinage of the people. In other words, we are always aware of the parentage of an
epigram and therefore, when using one, we usually make a reference to its author.
Epigrams are terse, witty, pointed statements, showing the ingenious turn of mind of
the originator. They always have a literary-bookish air about them that distinguishes
them from proverbs. Epigrams possess a great degree of independence and therefore,
if taken out of the context, will retain the wholeness of the idea they express. They
have a generalizing function and are self-sufficient. The most characteristic feature of
an epigram is that the sentence gets accepted as a word-combination and often
becomes part of the language as a whole. Like proverbs, epigrams can be expanded to
apply to abstract notions (thus embodying different spheres of application). Brevity is
the essential quality of the epigram. A. Chekhov once said that brevity is the sister of
talent; 'Brevity is the soul of the wit' holds true of any epigram.
Epigrams are often confused with aphorisms and paradoxes. It is difficult to draw a
demarcation line between them, the distinction being very subtle. Real epigrams are
true to fact and that is why they win general recognition and acceptance.
Let us turn to examples. Somerset Maugham in "The Razor's Edge" says:
"Art is triumphant when it can use convention as an instrument of its own;;purpose."
This statement is interesting from more than one point of view. It shows the ingenious
turn of mind of the writer, it gives an indirect definition of art as Maugham
understands it, it is complete in itself even if taken out of the context. But still this
sentence is not a model epigram because it lacks one essential quality, viz. brevity. It
is too long and therefore cannot function in speech as a ready-made language unit.
Besides, it lacks other features which are inherent in epigrams and make them similar
to proverbs, i.e. rhythm, alliteration and often rhyme. It cannot be expanded to other
spheres of life, it does Hot generalize.
Compare this sentence with the following used by the same author in the same novel.
"A God that can be understood is no God."
This sentence seems to meet all the necessary requirements of the epigram: it is brief,
generalizing, witty and can be expanded in its application. The same applies to
Byron's
"...in the days of old men made manners; Manners now ftiake men" ("Don Juan")
or Keats's
"A thing of beauty is a joy forever."
Writers who seek aesthetic precision use the epigram abundantly; others use it to
characterize the hero of their work. Somerset Maugham is particularly fond of it and
many of his novels and stories abound in epigrams. Here are some from "The Painted
Veil."
"He that bends shall be made straight."
"Failure is the foundation of success and success is the lurking
place of failure..."
"Mighty is he who conquers himself."
There are utterances which in form are epigrammatic—these are verses and in
particular definite kinds of verses. The last two lines of a sonnet are called
epigrammatic because, according to the semantic structure of this form of verse, they
sum up and synthesize what has been said before. The heroic couplet, a special
compositional form of verse, is also a suitable medium for epigrams, for instance:
"To observations which ourselves, we make, We grow more partial for th' observer's
sake."
(Alexander Pope)
There are special dictionaries which are called "Dictionaries of Quotations." These, in
fact, are mostly dictionaries of epigrams. What is worth quoting must always contain
some degree of the generalizing quality and if it comes from a work of poetry will
have metre (and sometimes rhyme). That is why the works of Shakespeare, Pope,
Byron and many other great English poets are said to be full of epigrammatic
statements.
The epigram is, in fact, a supra-phrasal unit in sense, though not in structure (see p.
194). " "
Poetry is epigrammatic in essence. It always strives for brevity of expression, leaving
to the mind of the reader the pleasure of amplifying the idea. Byron's
"The drying up a single tear has more
Of honest fame, than shedding seas of gore,"
is a strongly worded epigram, which impresses the* reader with its generalizing truth.
It may be regarded as a supra-phrasal unit inasmuch as it is semantically connected
with the preceding lines and at the same time enjoys a considerable degree of
independence. The inner quality of any sentence to which the rank of epigram, in the
generic sense of the term, can be attributed, is that the particularity of the event is
replaced by a timeless non-particularity.1
Take care of the pence and the pounds will take care oi themselves,
Quotations
Next to the originator of a good sentence is the first quoter of it. Emerson
A quotation is a repetition of a phrase or statement from a book, speech and the like
used by way of authority, illustration, proof or as a basis for further speculation on the
matter in hand.
By repeating a passage in a new environment, we attach to the utterance an
importance it might not have had in the context whence it was taken. Moreover, we
give it the status, temporary though it may be, of a stable language unit. What is
quoted must be worth quoting, since a quotation will inevitably acquire some degree
of generalization. If repeated frequently, it may be recognized as an epigram, if, of
course, it has at least some of the linguistic properties of the latter.
Quotations are usually marked off in the text by inverted commas (" "), dashes (—),
italics or other graphical means.
They are mostly used accompanied by a reference to the author of the quotation,
unless he is well known to the reader or audience. The reference is made either in the
text or in a foot-note and assumes various forms, as, for instance:
"as (so and so) has it"; "(So and so) once said that"...; "Here we quote (so and so)" or
in the manner the reference to Emerson has been made in the epigraph to this chapter.
A quotation is the exact reproduction of an actual utterance made by a certain author.
The work containing the utterance quoted must have been published or at least spoken
in public; for quotations are echoes of somebody else's words.
Utterances, when quoted, undergo a peculiar and subtle change. They are rank-and-
file members of the text they belong to, merging with other sentences in this text in
the most natural and organic wayf bearing some part of the general sense the text as a
whole embodies; yet, when they are quoted,, their significance is heightened and they
become different from other parts of the text. Once quoted, they are no longer rank-
and-file units. If they are used to back up the idea expressed in the new text, they
become "parent sentences" with the corresponding authority and respect and acquire a
symbolizing function; in short, they not infrequently become epigrams, for example,
Hamlet's "To be or not to be!" X
A quotation is always4 set against the other sentences in the text by its greater volume
of sense and significance. This singles it out, particularly if it is frequently repeated",
as any utterance worth committing to memory generally is. The use of
quotationsTpresupposes a good knowledge of the past experience of the nation, its
literature and culture.1 The stylistic value of a quotation lies mainly in the fact that it
comprises two meanings: the primary meaning, the one which it has in its original
surroundings, and the applicative meaning, i.e. the one which it acquires in the new
context.
1 A quotation from Byron's "English Bards and Scotch Reviewers" will be apt as a
comment here: "With just enough of learning to misquote."
Quotations, unlike epigrams, need not necessarily be short. A whole paragraph or a
long passage may be quoted if it suits the purpose. It is to be noted, however, that
sometimes in spite of the fact that the exact wording is used, a quotation in a new
environment may assume a new shade of meaning, a shade necessary or sought by the
quoter, but not intended by the writer of the original work.
Here we give a few examples of the use of quotations.
"Socrates said, our only knowledge was
"To know that nothing could be known" a pleasant
Science enough, which levels to an ass
Each man of Wisdom, future, past or present.
Newton (that proverb of the mind) alas!
Declared with all his grand discoveries recent
That he himself felt only "like a youth
Picking up shells by the great ocean—Truth." (Byron)
"Ecclesiastes said, "that all is vanity"—* Most modern preachers say the same, or
show it
By their examples of the Christianity..," (Byron)
Quotations are used as a stylistic device, as is seen from these exam-j pies, with the
aim of expanding the meaning of the sentence quoted and setting two meanings one
against the other, thus modifying the original meaning. In this quality they are used
mostly in the belles-lettres style. Quotations used in other styles of speech allow no
modifications of meaning, unless actual distortion of form and meaning is the aim of
the quoter.
Quotations are also used in epigraphs. The quotation in this case possesses great
associative power and calls forth much connotative meaning,
Allusions
An allusion is an indirect reference, by word or phrase, to a historical, literary,
mythological, biblical fact or to "a fact of'everyday life made in the course of
speaking or writing. The use of allusion presupposes knowledge of the fact, thing or
person alluded to on the part of the reader or listener. As a rule no indication of the
source is given. This is one of the notable differences between quotation and allusion.
Another difference is of a structural nature: a quotation must repeat the exact wording
of the original even though the meaning may be modified by the new context; an
allusion is only a mention of a word or phrase which may be regarded as the key-
word of the utterance. An allusion has certain important semantic peculiarities, in that
the meaning of the word (the allusion) should be regarded as a form for the new
meaning. In other words, the primary meaning of the word or phrase which is
assumed to be known (i.e. the allusion) serves as a vessel into which new meaning is
poured. So here there is also a kind of interplay between two meanings.
Here is a passage in which an allusion is made to the coachman, Old Mr. Weller, the
father of Dickens's famous character, Sam Weller, In this case the nominal meaning is
broadened into a generalized concept:
"Where is the road now, and its merry incidents of life!., old honest, pimple-nosed
coachmen? I wonder where are they, those good fellows? Is old Welter alive or
dead?" (Thackeray)
The volume of meaning in this allusion goes beyond the actual knowledge of the
character's traits. Even the phrases about the road and the coachmen bear indirect
reference to Dickens's "Pickwick Papers."
Here is another instance of allusion which requires a good knowledge of mythology,
history and geography if it is to be completely understood.
"Shakespeare talks of the herald Mercury
New lighted on a heaven-kissing hill', And some such visions cross'd her majesty
While her young herald knelt before her still. 'Tis very true the hill seem'd rather high,
For a lieutenant to climb up; but skill Smoothed even the Simplon's steep, and by
God's blessing With youth and health all kisses are heaven-kissing."
(Byron)
Mercury, Jupiter's messenger, is referred to here because Don Juan brings a dispatch
to Catherine II of Russia and is therefore her majesty's herald. But the phrase "...skill
smooth'd even the Simplon's steep..." will be quite incomprehensible to those readers
who do not know that Napoleon built a carriage road near the village of Simplon in
the pass 6590 feet over the Alps and founded a hospice at the summit. Then the words
'Simplon's steep' become charged with significance and implications which now need
no further comment.
Allusions are based on the accumulated experience and the knowledge of the writer
who presupposes a similar experience and knowledge in the reader. But the
knowledge stored in our minds is called forth by an allusion in a peculiar rfianner.
^All kinds of associations we may not yet have realized cluster round the facts alluded
to. Illustrative in this respect is the quotation-allusion made in Somerset Maugham's
novel "The Painted Veil". The last words uttered by the dying man are "The dog it
was that died." These are the concluding lines of Goldsmith's "Elegy on the Death of
a Mad Dog." Unless the reader knows the Elegy, he will not understand the
implication embodied in this quotation. Consequently, the quotation here becorpes an
allusion which runs through the whole plot of the novel. Moreover, the psychological
tuning of the novel can be deciphered only by drawing a parallel between the poem
and the plot of the novel.
The main character is dying, having failed to revenge himself upon his unfaithful
wife. He was punished by death for having plotted evil. This is the inference to be
drawn from the allusion.
The following passage from Dickens's "Hard Times" will serve to prove how remote
may be the associations called up by an allusion,
"No little Grandgrind had ever associated a cow in a field with that famous cow with
the crumpled horn that tossed the dog that worried the cat that killed the rat that ate
the malt, or with that yet
more famous cow that swallowed Tom Thumb; it had never heard of those
celebrities."
The meaning that can be derived from the two allusions, one to the nursery rhyme
"The House that Jack built" and the other to the old tale "The History of Tom Thumb"
is the following:
No one was permitted to teach the little Grandgrind children the lively, vivid nursery
rhymes and tales that every English child knows by heart. They were subjected to
nothing but dry abstract drilling. The word cow in the two allusions becomes
impregnated with concrete meaning set against the abstract meaning of cow-in-a-
field, or cow-in-general. To put it into the terms of theoretical linguistics, cow-in-a-fie
Id refers to the nominating rather than to the signifying aspect of the word.
Allusions and quotations may be termed nonce-set-expressions because they are used
only for the occasion.
Allusion, as has been pointed out, needs no indication of the source. It is assumed to
be known. Therefore most allusions are made to facts with which the general reader
should be familiar. However, allusions are sometimes made to things and facts wrhich
need commentary before they are understood.
Allusions are used in different styles, but their function is everywhere the same. The
deciphering of an allusion, however, is not always easy. In newspaper headlines
allusions may be decoded at first glance, as, for instance;
"'Pie in the sky' for Railmen" *
Most people in the USA and Britain know the refrain of the workers' song: "You'll get
pie in the sky when you die."
The use of part of the sentence-refrain implies that the railmen had been given many
promises but nothing at the present moment. Linguistically the allusion 'pie in the sky'
assumes a new meaning, viz. nothing but promises. Through frequency of repetition it
may enter into the word-stock of the English language as a figurative synonyms
Decomposition of Set Phrases
Linguistic fusions are set phrases, the meaning of which is understood only from the
combination as a whole, as to pull a person's leg or to have something at one's finger
tips. The meaning of the whole cannot be derived from the meanings of the
component parts. The stylistic device of decomposition of fused set phrases consists
in reviving the independent meanings which make up the component parts of the
fusion. In other words, it makes each word of the combination acquire its literal
meaning which, of course, in many cases leads to the realization of an absurdity. Here
is an example of this device as employed by Dickens:
"Mind! I don't mean to say that I know of my own knowledge, what there is
particularly dead about a door-nail. I might have
been inclined, myself, to regard a coffin nail as the deadest piece of ironmongery in
the trade. But the wisdom of our ancestors is in the simile; and my unhallowed hands
shall not disturb it or the Country's done for. You will, therefore, permit me to repeat
emphatically that Marley was as dead as a door-nail." (Dickens)
As is seen in this excerpt, the fusion 'as dead as a door-nail', which simply means
completely dead, is decomposed by being used in a different structural pattern. This
causes the violation of the generally recognized meaning of the combination which
has grown into a mere emotional intensifier. The reader, being presented with the
parts of the unit, becomes aware of the meanings of the parts, which, be it repeated,
have little in common with the meaning of the whole. When, as Dickens does, the unit
is re-established in its original form, the phrase acquires a fresh vigour and effect,
qualities important in this utterance because the unit itself was meant to carry the
strongest possible proof that the man was actually dead.
Another example from the same story:
"Scrooge had often heard it said that money had no bowels, but he had never believed
it until now."
The bowels (guts, intestines) were supposed to be the seat of the emotions of pity and
compassion. But here Dickens uses the phrase 'to have no bowels' in its literal
meaning: Scrooge is looking at Marley's ghost and does not see any intestines.
In the sentence "It was raining cats and dogs, and two kittens and a puppy landed on
my window-sill" (Chesterton) the fusion 4o rain cats and dogs' is freshened by the
introduction of "kittens and a puppy," which changes the unmotivated combination
into a metaphor which in its turn is sustained.,_
The exppession 'to save one's bacon' means to escape from injury or loss. Byron in his
"Don Juan" decomposes this unit by setting it against the word hog in its logical
meaning:
"But here I say the Turks were much mistaken, Who hating hogs, yet wish'd to save
their bacon.''
Byron particularlyJfavoure4d the device of simultaneous materialization of two
meanings? the meaning of the whole set phrase and the independent meanings of its
components, with the result that the independent meanings unite anew and give^the
whole a fresh significance.
Here is a good example of the effective use of this device. The poet mocks at the
absurd notion of idealists who deny the existence of every kind of matter whatsoever:
"When Bishop Berkley said: "there was no matter" And proved it—'twas no matter
what he said."
(Byron)

PART V SYNTACTICAL EXPRESSIVE MEANS AND STYLISTIC


DEVICES
A. GENERAL CONSIDERATIONS
Within the language-as-a-system there establish themselves certain [definite types of
relations between words, word-combinations, sentences I and also between larger
spans of utterances. The branch of language science which studies the types of
relations between the units enumerated is called syntax.
In the domain of syntax, as has been justly pointed out by L. A. Bula-khovsky, it is
difficult to distinguish between what is purely grammatical, i. e. marked as
corresponding to the established norms, and what is stylistic, i. e. showing some kind
of vacillation of these norms. This is particularly evident when we begin to analyse
larger-than-the-entence units.
Generally speaking, the examination of syntax provides a deeper insight into the
stylistic aspect of utterances.
The study of the sentence and its types and especially the study of the relations
between different parts of the sentence has had a long history. Rhetoric was mainly
engaged in the observation of the juxtaposition of the members of the sentence and in
finding ways and means of building larger and more elaborate spans of utterance, as,
for example, the period or periodical sentence. Modern grammars have greatly
extended the scope of structural analysis and have taken under observation the pecul-
iarities of the relations between the members of the sentence, which somehow has
overshadowed problems connected with structural and semantic patterns of larger
syntactical units. It would not be an exaggeration to state that the study of units of
speech larger than the sentence is still being neglected by many linguists. Some of
them even consider such units to be extralinguistic, thus excluding them entirely from
the domain of linguistics.
StyTis tics takes as the object of its analysis the expressive means and stylistic
devices of the language which are based on some significant structural point in an
utterance, whether it consists of one sentence or a string of sentences. In grammar
certain types of utterances have already been patterned; thus, for example, we have all
kinds of simple, compound or complex sentences, even a paragraph long, that may be
regarded as neutral or non-stylistic patterns.
At the same time, the peculiarities of the structural design of utterances which bear
some particular emotional colouring, that is, which
are stylistic and therefore non-neutral, may also be patterned and presented as a
special system.
Stylistic syntactical patterns may be viewed as variants of the general syntactical
models of the language and are the more obvious and conspicuous if presented not as
isolated elements or accidental usages, but as groups easily observable and lending
themselves to generalization.
This idea is expressed by G. O. Vinokur in his "Маяковский — новатор языка"
where he maintains that in syntax it is no new material that is coined, but new
relations, because the syntactical aspect of speech is nothing more than a definite
combination of grammatical forms, and in this sense the actual words used are
essentially immaterial. Therefore syntactical relations, particularly in poetic language,
are that aspect of speech in which everything presents itself as actualization of the
potential and not merely the repetition of the ready-made.1
By "the potential" Q. Vinokur apparently means variations of syntactical patterns.
It follows, therefore, that in order to establish the permissible fluctuations of the
syntactical norm, it is necessary to ascertain what is meant by the syntactical norm
itself. As a matter of fact any change in the relative positions of the members of the
sentence may be regarded as a variant of the received standard, provided that the
relation between them will not hinder the understanding of the utterance.
But here we are faced with the indisputable interdependence between form and
content; in other words, between the syntactical design of the utterance and its
concrete lexical materialization.
Syntactical relations can be studied in isolation from semantic content. In this case
they are viewed as constituents of the whole and assume their independent
grammatical meaning. This is most apparent in forms embodying nonsense lexical
units, as in Lewis Carroll's famous lines, so often quoted by linguists.
"Twas brilling, and the slithy toves . . Did gyre and gimbol in the wabe: All
mimsy were the borogroves, And the mome raths outgrabe."
The structural elements of these lines stand out conspicuously and make sense even
though they, are materialized by nonsense elements. Moreover, they impose^on the
morphemes they are attached to a definite grammatical meaning making it possible to
class the units. So it is due to these elements that we can state what the nonsense
words are supposed to mean. Thus, we know that the sequence of the forms forcibly
suggests that after twas we should have an adjective; the у in slithy makes the word
an adjective; gyre after the emphatic did can only be a verb. We know that this is a
poem because it has rhythm (iambic tetrameter) and rhyme (abab in * toves—
borogroves;' 'wabe—outgrabe').
A closer examination of the structural elements will show that they outnumber the
semantic units: nineteen structural elements and eleven
are meant to be semantic. The following inferences may be drawn from
this fact:
1) it is the structural element of the utterance that predetermines the possible semantic
aspect;
2) the structural elements have their own independent meaning which may be called
structural or, more widely, grammatical;
3) the structural meaning may affect the lexical, giving contextual meaning to some of
the lexical units.

B. PROBLEMS CONCERNING THE COMPOSITION OF SPANS OF


UTTERANCE LARGER THAN THE SENTENCE
In recent years a new theory concerning the inner relations between context and form
within the sentence has appeared. This theory, elaborated by S. Harris, N. Chomsky,
M. Postal and others, is called Generative Grammar. It maintains that grammar must
not only describe the laws which regulate the functioning of linguistic units but must
also be capable of generating new sentences.
"A grammar of this kind," writes John Lyons, "is 'predictive' in that it establishes as
grammatical, not only 'actual' sentences, but also 'potential' sentences." l
The reference to Lyons's statement has direct bearing on the problems of stylistic
syntax. The fact is, as will be seen later, that any one of the syntactical SDs is capable
of generating an unlimited number of sentences within the given pattern. However,
according to orthodox generative grammar, some of them are regarded as 'ill-formed'
and even 'ungram-matical' inasmuch as they fail to meet the requirements of the basic
(kernel) structures.
The theory further maintains that there are two kinds of structures — a deep structure
and a surface structure. The latter are the actual sentences produced by the former,
which is not presented in language units and therefore unobservable.
Mention of this theory is made here, firstly, because in modern sty-listics attempts are
being made to build up a grammar which would generate deviant constructions and
thus broaden the limits of the 'well-formed' sentences which are regarded as the only
ones that are 'grammatical'. Another reason is that transformation, one of the basic
methods employed in generative grammars, is very effectively used in stylistics when
it is necessary to find the stylistic meaning of this or that sentence structure. A third
reason is that generative grammars aim at reconstructing the processes connected with
the formation of sentences. This has direct bearing on the interpretation of syntactical
SDs and particularly on their linguistic nature.
This theory enables the interpreter to look at a sentence from the point of view of
what is 'behind' the sentence.
As J. P. Thorne states, "Generative grammar is important to stylistics because in
addition to these'surface structure' facts, it is concerned
with the so-called 'deep structure' aspects of language, that is, those facts about
linguistic structure which cannot be directly related to what can be observed. Most
stylistic judgements relate to deep structure."1
It follows then that the so-called generative grammar is not so strikingly new. This is
also noted by the well-known linguists John Lyons and D. Bolinger, 2 who state
positively that there is nothing new in the theory of generative grammar.
Another development in linguistics also having direct bearing on the problems which
concern us when dealing with syntactical SDs, is 'text-linguistics', as it is called. This
development, which as yet has not been formed as a separate theory, aims at
investigating the objective criteria concerning ways and means of constructing texts
of different kinds and genres. 3
For this purpose it is first of all necessary to find the elements into which any text
may fall. In other words, there must be certain constituent units of which any text is
composed.
Phonemes, the smallest language units, function within morphemes and are dependent
on them, morphemes function within words, words — within sentences, and
sentences function in larger structural frames which we shall call "supra-phrasal
units". Consequently, neither words nor separate sentences can be regarded as the
basic constituents of a text. They are the basic units of lower levels of language-as-a-
system, as is shown above.
Supra-Phrasal Units
The term supra-phrasal unit (SPU) is used to denote a larger unit than a
sentence. It generally comprises a number of sentences interdependent structurally
(usually by means of pronouns, connectives, tense-forms) and semantically (one
definite thought is dealt with). Such a span of utterance is also characterized by the
fact that it can be extracted from the context without losing its relative semantic
independence. This cannot be said of the sentence, which, while representing a
complete syntactical unit, may, however, lack the quality of independence. A sentence
from the stylistic point of view does not necessarily express one idea, as it is defined
in most manuals of grammar. It may express only part of one idea. Thus the sentence:
"Guy glanced at his wife's untouched plate", if taken out of the context, will be
perceived as a part of a larger span of utterance where the situation will be made clear
and the purport of verbal expression more complete.
Here is the complete SPU.
Guy glanced at his wife's untouched plate.
"If you've finished, we might stroll down. I think you ought to be starting."
She did not answer. She rose from the table. She went into her room to see that
nothing had been forgotten and then side by side with him walked down the steps.
(Somerset Maugham)
The next sentence of the paragraph begins: "A little winding path..." This is
obviously the beginning of the next SPU. So a supra-phrasal unit may be defined as a
combination of sentences presenting a structural and semantic unity backed up by
rhythmic and melodic unity. Any SPU will lose its unity if it suffers breaking.
But what are the principles on which the singling out of an SPU can be
maintained? In order to give an answer to this question, it is first of all necessary to
deepen our understanding of the term utterance. As a stylistic term the word
'utterance' must be expanded. Any utterance from a stylistic point of view will serve
to denote a certain span of speech (language-in-action) in which we may observe
coherence, interdependence of the elements, one definite idea, and last but not least,
the purport of the writer.
The purport is the aim that the writer sets before himself, which is to make the
desired impact on the reader. So the aim of any utterance is a carefully thought-out
impact. Syntactical units are connected to achieve the desired effect and it is often by
the manner they are connected that the desired effect is secured.
Let us take the following paragraph for analysis:
"1. But a day or two later the doctor was not feeling well. 2. He had an internal
malady that troubled him now and then, but he was used to it and disinclined to talk about
it. 3. When he had one of his attacks, he only wanted to be left alone. 4. His cabin was
small and stuffy, so he settled himself on a long chair on deck and lay with his eyes closed.
5. Miss Reid was walking up and down to get the half hour's exercise she took morning
and evening. 6. He thought that if he pretended to be asleep she would not disturb him. 7.
But when she had passed him half a dozen times she stopped in front of him and'stood
quite still. 8. Though he kept his eyes closed he knew that she was looking at him."
(Somerset Maugham)
This paragraph consists of eight sentences, all more or less independent? The
first three sentences, however, show a considerable degree I of semantic
interdependence. This can be inferred from the use of the |following cluster of
concepts associated with each other: 'not feeling I weir, 'internal malady', 'one of his
attacks'. Each phrase is the key to the sentence in which it occurs. There are no formal
connectives, the connection is made apparent by purely semantic means. These three
sentences constitute an SPU built within the larger framework of the paragraph. The
fourth sentence is semantically independent of the preceding three. It seems at first
glance not to belong to the paragraph at all. The fact that the doctor's'cabin was small
and stuffy' and that 'he settled himself... on deck' does not seem to be necessarily
connected with the thought expressed in the preceding SPU. But on a more careful
analysis one can clearly see how all four sentences are actually interconnected. The
linking sentence is 4he only wanted to be left alone'. So the words Чау with his eyes
closed' with which the fourth sentence ends, are semantically connected both with the
idea of being left alone and with the idea expressed in the sentence: 'He thought that if
he pretended to be asleep she would not disturb him.' But between this sentence and
its semantic links May with his eyes closed' and 'wanted to be left alone', the sentence
about Miss Reid thrusts itself in. This is not irrelevant to the whole situation and to
the purport of the writer, who leads us to understand that the doctor was disinclined to
talk to anybody and probably to Miss Reid in particular.
So the whole of the paragraph has therefore semantic and structural
wholeness. It can, however, be split into two SPUs with a linking sentence between
them. Sentence 5 can be regarded as an SPU, inasmuch as it enjoys considerable
independence both semantically and structurally. Sentences 6, 7 and 8 are structurally
and therefore semantically interwoven. But when and though in the seventh and
eighth sentences are the structural elements which link all three sentences into one
SPU.
It follows then that an SPU can be embodied in a sentence if the sentence
meets the requirements of this compositional unit. Most epigrams are SPUs from the
point of view of their semantic unity, though they fail to meet the general structural
requirement, viz. to be represented in a number of sentences.
On the other hand, an SPU, though usually a component part of the paragraph,
may occupy the whole of the paragraph. In this case we say that the SPU coincides
with the paragraph.
It is important to point out that this structural unit, in its particular way of
arranging ideas, belongs almost exclusively to the belles-lettres style, though it may
be met with to some extent in the publicistic style. Other styles, judging by their
recognized leading features, do not require this mode of arranging the parts of an
utterance except in rare cases which may be neglected. '
Let us take a passage from another piece of belles-lettres style, a paragraph
from Aldington's "Death of a Hero."
It is a paragraph easy to submit to stylistic and semantic analysis: it falls
naturally into several SPUs.
"1. After dinner they ,sat about and smoked. 2. George took his chair over to the
open window and looked down on the lights and movement of Piccadilly.-3. The noise of
the traffic was lulled by the height to a long continuous rumble. 4. The placards of the
evening papers along the railings beside the Ritz were sensational and bellicose. 5. The
party dropped the subject of a possible great war; after deciding that there wouldn't be one,
there couldn't. 6. George, who had great faith in Mr. Bobbe's political acumen, glanced
through his last article, and took great comfort from the fact that Bobbe said there wasn't
going to be a war. 7. It was all a scare, a stock market ramp... 8. At that moment three or
four people came in, more or less together, though they were in separate parties. 9. One of
them was a youngish man in immaculate evening dress. 10. As he shook hands with his
host, George heard him say rather excitedly, "I've just been dining with..."
Analysis of this paragraph will show how complicated the composition of
belles-lettres syntactical units is. There is no doubt that,there is a definite semantic
unity in the paragraph. The main idea is the anxiety and uncertainty of English society
before World War I as to whether there would be, or would not be, a war. But around
this main sense-axis there centre a number of utterances which present more or less
independent spans of thought. Thus, we can easily single out the group of sentences
which begins with the words 'After dinner' and ends with '...and bellicose'. This part
of the text presents, as it were, the background against which the purport of the author
stands out more clearly, the last sentence of this SPU preparing the reader for the
main idea of the paragraph—the possibility of war—which is embodied in the next
supra-phrasal unit. This second SPU begins with the words 'The party dropped the
subject of a possible great war' and ends with '...a stock market ramp...'. It is made
structurally independent by the introduction of elements of uttered represented speech
(see p. 238), the contractions wouldn't, couldn't, wasn't, the purely colloquial
syntactical design there wouldn't be one, there couldn't, the colloquial word scare.
The shift to the third SPU is indicated by the dots after the word ramp (...).
Here again it is the author who speaks, there are no further elements of represented
speech, the shift being rather abrupt, because George's thoughts were interrupted by
the entrance of the newcomers. The connecting 'At that moment' softens the
abruptness.
The author's purport grows apparent through the interrelation— an
interrelation which seems to be organic—between the three SPUs: sensational and
bellicose placards in the streets of London, the anxiety of the people at the party, the
conviction backed up by such a reassuring argument as Mr. Bobbe's article that there
was not going to fee a war, and the new guests bringing unexpected news.
SPUs are not always so easily discernible as they are in this paragraph from
"The Death of a Hero". Due to individual peculiarities in combining ideas into a
graphical (and that means both syntactical and semantic) unity, there may be
considerable variety in the arrangement of SPUs and of paragraphs, ranging from
what might be called clearly-marked borderlines between the supra-phrasal unit to
almost imperceptible semantic shifts. Indeed, it is often from making a comparison
between the beginning and the end of a paragraph that one can infer that it contains
separate SPUs.
It follows then that the paragraphs in the belles-lettres prose style do not
necessarily possess the qualities of unity and coherence as is the case with paragraphs
in other styles of speech and particularly in the scientific prose style.
SPUs are to be found in particular in poetical style. Here the SPUs, as well as
the paragraphs, are embodied in stanzas. Due to the most typical semantic property of
any poetical work, viz. brevity of expression, there arises the need to combine ideas
so that seemingly independent utterances may be integrated into one poetical unity,
viz. a stanza. Let us take for analysis the following stanza from Shelley's poem "The
Cloud":
"I bring fresh showers for the thirsting flowers
From the seas and the streams; I bear light shade for the leaves when laid
In their noon-day dreams. From my wings are shaken the dews that waken
The sweet buds every one, When rocked to rest on their mother's breast,
As she dances about the sun. I wield the flail of the lashing hail,
And whiten the green plains under; And then again I dissolve it in rain,
And laugh as I pass in thunder."
Here there are three SPUs separated by full stops.
Within the first, which comprises four lines, there are two more or less
independent units divided by a semicolon and integrated by parallel constructions (/
bring fresh showers; I bear light shade).
Within the second SPU—also four lines—there are also two interdependent
ideas—the buds awakened by the dews and the earth moving around the sun. These
are strongly bound together by the formal elements when and as forming one complex
sentence and an SPU. The formal means used to connect different spans of utterance
affect their semantic integrity.
The three SPUs of the stanza are united by one idea— the usefulness of the
cloud giving all kind of comfort, here moisture and shade, to what is growing..*
showers, shade, dews, hail, rain.
The SPUs in sonnets qfe^ especially manifest. This is due to their strict
structural and semantic rules of composition.
The Paragraph
A p a r a g r a p h is a graphical term used to name a group of sentences
marked off by indentation at the beginning and a break in the line at the end. But this
graphical term has come to mean a distinct portion of a written discourse showing an
internal unity. As a linguistic category the paragraph is a unit of utterance marked off
by purely linguistic means: intonation, pauses of various lengths, semantic ties which
can be disclosed by scrupulous analysis of the morphological aspect and meaning of
the component parts, etc. It has already been stated elsewhere that the logical aspect
of an utterance will always be backed up by purely linguistic means causing, as it
were, an indivisible unity of extralin-guistic and intralinguistic approach.
Bearing this in mind, we shall not draw a mark of demarcation between the
logical and the linguistic analysis of an utterance, because the paragraph is a linguistic
expression of a logical, pragmatic and aesthetic arrangement of thought.
Paragraph structure is not always built on logical principles alone, as is
generally the case in the style of scientific prose. In the building of paragraphs in
newspaper style, other requirements are taken into consideration, for instance,
psychological principles, in particular the sensational effect of the communication and
the grasping capacity of the reader for quick reading. Considerations of space also
play ад important part. This latter consideration sometimes overrules the necessity for
logical arrangement and results in breaking the main rule of paragraph building, i.e.
the unity of idea. Thus, a brief note containing information about an oil treaty is
crammed into one sentence, it being, in its turn, a paragraph:
"The revised version of an international oil treaty is to-day before the Senate
Relation Committee, which recently made it clear that the Anglo-American oil treaty
negotiated last August would not reach the Senate floor for ratification, because of
objections by the American oil industry to it."
Paragraph building in the style of official documents is mainly governed by
the particular conventional forms of documents (charters, pacts, diplomatic
documents, business letters, legal documents and the like). Here paragraphs may
sometimes embody what are grammatically called a number of parallel clauses, which
for the sake of the wholeness of the entire document are made formally subordinate,
whereas in reality they are independent items. (See examples in the chapter on official
style, p. 312.)
Paragraph structure in the belles-lettres and publicistic styles is strongly
affected by the purport of the author. To secure the desired impact, a writer finds it
necessary to give details and illustrations, to introduce comparisons and contrasts, to
give additional reasons and, finally, to expand the topic by looking at it from different
angles and paraphrasing the idea. He may, especially in the publicistic style, introduce
the testimony of some authority on the subject and even deviate from the main topic
by recounting an anecdote or even a short story to ease mental effort and facilitate
understanding of the communication.
The length of a paragraph normally varies from eight to twelve sentences. The
longer the paragraph is, the more difficult it is to follow the purport of the writer. In
newspaper style, however, most paragraphs consist of one or perhaps two or three
sentences.
Paragraphs of a purely logical type may be analysed from the way the thought
of the writer develops. Attempts have been made to classify paragraphs from the point
of view of the logical sequence of the sentences. Thus, in manuals on the art of
composition there are models of paragraphs built on different principles:
1) from the general to the particular, or from the particular to the general;
2) on the inductive or deductive principle;
3) from cause to effect, or from effect to cause;
4) on contrast, or comparison.
So the paragraph is a compositional device aimed either at facilitating the
process of apprehending what is written, or inducing a certain reaction on the part of
the reader. This reaction is generally achieved by intentionally grouping the ideas so
as to show their interdependence or interrelation. That is why the paragraph, from a
mere compositional device, turns into a stylistic one. It discloses the writer's manner
of depicting the features of the object or phenomenon described. It is in the paragraph
that the main function of the belles-lettres style becomes most apparent, the main
function, as will be shown below, being aesthetico-cognitive and pragmatic.
In the paragraph from the "Death of a Hero", as we saw, there are three SPUs
which together constitute one paragraph. If we were to convert the passage into one of
the matter-of-fact styles it would be necessary to split it into three paragraphs. But
Aldington found it necessary to combine all the sentences into one paragraph,
evidently seeing closer connections between the parts than there would be in a mere
impersonal, less emotional account of the events described.
The paragraph in some styles, such as scientific, publicistic and some others,
generally has a topic sentence, i. e. a sentence which embodies the main idea of the
paragraph or which may be interpreted as a key-sentence disclosing the chief thought
of the writer. In logical prose the topic sentence is, as a rule, placed either at the
beginning or at the end of the paragraph, depending on the logical pattern on which
the paragraph is built. In the belles-lettres style the topic sentence may be placed in
any part of the paragraph. It will depend on how the writer seeks to achieve his effect.
Thus in the paragraph we have been referring to, the topic sentence ('The party
dropped the subject of a possible great war, after deciding that there wouldn't be one,
there couldn't') is placed in the middle of the paragraph. The parts that precede and
follow the topic sentence correspondingly-lead to ft O'the placards...') and develop it
('George, who...'). The topic sentence itself, being based on uttered represented
speech, is stylistically a very effective device to show that the conclusion (no war)
was not based on sound logical argument, but merely on the small talk of the party
('there wouldn't', 'there couldn't').
However, paragraph building in belles-lettres prose generally lacks unity,
inasmuch as it Is4govefned by other than logical-principles, two of the requirements
being emotiveness and a natural representation of the situation depicted. Hence it- is
sometimes impossible to decide which sentence should be regarded as the topic one.
Each SPU of several combined into one paragraph may have its own topic sentence or
be a topic sentence. In other words, there are no topic sentences in emotive prose as a
rule, though there may be some paragraphs with one due to the prevalence of the
logical element over the emotional or the aesthetic. In publicistic style paragraphs are
built on more apparent logical principles, this style being intermediate between the
belles-lettres and the scientific style. Let us subject to stylistic analysis the following
paragraph from Macaulay's essay on Oliver Goldsmith:
"While Goldsmith was writing "The Deserted Village" and "She Stoops to
Conquer," he was employed in works of a very different kind, works from which he
derived little reputation but much profit. He compiled for the use of schools a
"History of Rome," by which he made Ј 300; a "History of England," by which he
made Ј 600; a "History of Greece," for which he received Ј250; a "Natural History,"
for which the book-sellers covenanted to pay him 800 guineas. These works he
produced without any elaborate research, by merely selecting, abridging and trans-
lating into his own clear, pure, and flowing language what he found in books well
known to the world, but too bulky or too dry for boys and girls. He committed some
strange blunders; for he knew nothing with accuracy. Thus in his "History of
England" he tells us that Naseby is in Yorkshire; nor did he correct this mistake when
the book was reprinted. He was nearly hoaxed into putting into the "History of
Greece" an account of a battle between Alexander the Great and Montezuma. In his
"Animated Nature" he relates, with faith and with perfect gravity, all the most absurd
lies which he could find in books of travels about gigantic Patagonians, monkeys that
preach sermons, nightingales that repeat long con* versations. "If he can tell a horse
from a cow," said Johnson, "that is the extent of his knowledge of zoology." How
little Goldsmith was qualified to write about the physical sciences is sufficiently
proved by two anecdotes. He on one occasion denied that the sun is longer in the
northern* than in the southern signs. It was vain to cite the authority of Maupertuis.
"Maupertuis!" he cried; "I understand those matters better than Maupertuis." On
another occasion he, in defiance of the evidence of his own senses maintained
obstinately, and even angrily, that he chewed his dinner by moving his upper jaw.
Yet, ignorant as Goldsmith was, few writers have done more to make the first
steps in the laborious road to knowledge easy and pleasant..." - .
The topic sentence of this paragraph is placed at the beginning. It consists of
two ideas presented in a complex sentence with a subordinate clause of time. The idea
of the topic sentence is embodied in the main clause which states that Goldsmith
derived 'little reputation but much profit' out of some of his works. The subordinate
clause of time is used here as a linking sentence between the preceding paragraph
which deals with "The Deserted Village" and "She Stoops to Conquer" and the one
under scrutiny.
The next paragraph of the passage, as the reader has undoubtedly observed,
begins with a new topic sentence and is built on the same structural model: the
subordinate clause sums up the idea of the preceding paragraph ('Yet, ignorant as
Goldsmith was'), and the main clause introduces a new idea. This pattern is
maintained throughout the essay and, by the way, in most of Macaulay's essays. This
easy, flowing manner of exposition has a high degree of predictability. The reader,
having read the first sentence and being conscious of the author's manner of building
paragraphs, will not fail to grasp the gist of the passage at once.
It is interesting to point out how Macaulay develops the idea expressed in the
topic sentence. He wished to show why Goldsmith derived 1) 'little reputation' and 2)
'much profit' from certain of his works. Of the two, Macaulay considers the former to
be undoubtedly more significant than the latter. That is why he begins with
insignificant details— enumerating Goldsmith's profits, and then devotes all the rest
of the paragraph to instances of Goldsmith's ignorance.
A paragraph in certain styles is a dialogue (with the reader) in the form of a
monologue. The breaking-up of a piece of writing into paragraphs can be regarded as
an expression of consideration for the reader on the part of the author. It manifests
itself in the author's being aware of limits in the reader's capacity for perceiving and
absorbing information. Therefore paragraphs in matter-of-fact styles, as in scientific
prose, official documents and so on, are clear, precise, logically coherent, and possess
unity, i. e. express one main thought. Paragraphs in emotive prose are combinations of
the logical and the emotional. The aim of the author in breaking up the narrative into
paragraphs is not only to facilitate understanding but also for emphasis. That is why
paragraphs in the belles-lettres prose are sometimes built on contrast or on climax, as
is the paragraph from "A Christmas Carol" by Dickens, quoted on p. 220.
The paragraph as a unit of utterance, is so far entirely the domain of stylistics.
Yet there are obvious features of a purely syntactical character in the paragraph which
must not be overlooked. That is why there is every reason to study the paragraph in
syntax of the language where not only the sentence but also larger units of
communication should be under observation. This would come under what we may
call the 'macro-syntax' of the language.

C. COMPOSITIONAL PATTERNS OF SYNTACTICAL ARRANGEMENT


The structural syntactical aspect is sometimes regarded as the crucial issue in stylistic
analysis, although the peculiarities of syntactical arrangement are not so conspicuous
as the lexical and phraseological properties of the utterance. Syntax is figuratively
called the "sinews of style".
Structural syntactical stylistic d e v i с е s are in special relations with the intonation
involved. Prof. Peshkovsky points out that there is an interdependence between the
intonation and syntactical properties of the sentence, which may be worded in the fol-
lowing manner: the jnore explicitly the^structural syntactical relations are expressed,
the weaker will be the intonation-pattern of the utterance (tcTcomplete disappearance)
and vice-versa, the stronger the~ iritonalion, the weaker grow the evident syntactical
relations (also to complete
disappearance) l. This can be illustrated by means of the following two nairs of
sentences: 'Only after dinner did I make up my mind to go there' and '/ made up my
mind to go there only after dinner.1 'It was in Bucharest that the Xth International
Congress of Linguists took place' and'The Xth International Congress of Linguists
took place in Bucharest.'
The second sentences in these pairs can be made emphatic only by
intonffion]~"tTie~TrrsTsentences are made emphatic bjrmeari^ortlie^ syh-
-ffiffifi^^ I...' and 'It was... that"?..'
——The""~problem of syntactical stylistic devices appears to be closely linked not
only with what makes an utterance more emphatic but also wjth the more general
problem of predication. As is known, the English affirmative sentence is regarded as
neutral if it maintains the regular wpFd:6fder,^i.e. subject—predicate—object (or
other secondary mem-БёпГ of the "sentence, as they are called). Any other order of
the parts of the sentence may also carry the necessary information, but the impact on
the reader will be different. Even a slight change in the word-order of a sentence or in
the order of the sentences in a more complicated syntactical unit will inevitably cause
a definite modification of the meaning of the whole. An almost imperceptible
rhythmical design introduced into a prose sentence, or a sudden break in the sequence
of the parts of the sentence, or any other change^will add something to the volume of
information contained in the original sentence.
Unlike the syntactical expressive means of the language, which are naturally used in
discourse in a straight-forward natural manner, syntactical stylistic
de^/1cgs_jr<e_g^^ve4 as elaborate designs aimea al having, ja.Hefiii^
"any SD is meant to be understood as a device and is calculated to produce a desired
stylistic effect.
When viewing the stylistic functions of different syntactical designs we must first of
all take into consideration two aspects:
1. The juxtaposition of different parts of the utterance.
2. The way the parts are connected with each other. In addition to these two large
groups of EMs.and SDs two other groups may be distinguished:
3. Those based on the peculiar use of colloquial constructions.
4. Those based on the stylistic use of-structural meaning.
Stylistic Inversion
W о r d-o r d e r is a crucial syntactical problem in many languages. In English it has
peculiarities which have been caused by the concrete and specific way the language
has developed. O. Jespersen states that the English language "...has developed a
tolerably fired word-order which in the great majority of cases shows without fail
what is the Subject of the sentence."2 This "tolerably fixed word-order" is Subject —
^efk _JPredicate) — ^Object JS^P^^P). Further, Jespersen mentions
<й statistical investigation of word-order made on the basis of a series of
<representative 19th century writers. It was found that the order S~
P—О was^used in from 82 to QTj^LSSu^L^Lsentences S^taininjipiii
three !Sefi:il^^^ for BeowuTT^asHrB'^M'TorKirig
^ПтесГГ prose* 40.
This predominance of S—P—О word-order makes conspicuous any change in the
structure of the sentence and inevitably calls forth a modification in the intonation
design.
Thfejnpst: с;р11^1сшд^ consi(dered^to,,.be,ihe firsFand the last: the first place
because.JheJull force of the stress can De felj;_^tMT^lmiing of an utterance and the
last place because there is_a pause aftgrJhL This traditional word-order Tias
developed a definite intonation Design. Through frequency of fepet it ion this design
Fas Imposed Tts<eIfT5fTany sentence even though there are changes introduced in
the sequence of the component parts. Hence the clash between seman-tically
insignificant elements of the sentence when they are placed in structurally significant
position and the intonation which follows the recognized pattern.
Thus in Dickens' much quoted sentence:
"Talent Mr. Micawber has; capital Mr. Micawber has not."
The first and the last positions being prominent, the verb has and the negative not get
a fuller volume of stressjhan they would in ordinary (uninverted)
wordPorHeFrTnlM^rMTnbnal word-order the predicates has and has not are closely
attached to their objects talent and capital. English predicate-object groups are so
bound together1 that when jye tear the object away from its predicate, the latter
remains dangjjng in the sentence and in this position sometimes calls fortff'a cfiange:
in meaning of the predicate word. In the inverted word-order not 'only the objects
talent and capital become conspicuous but also the predicates has and has not.
In this example the effect bf the inverted word-order is backed up by two other
stylistic devices: antith§sis and parallel const ruction. Unlike grammatical inversion,
st^yljstfcjily^ersion does riot change the structural rneari|rigj^^ is, the change in the
juxtapositioffbf lEe members of the senteECje.^does-.noI indicate structural meaning
Jjut Ms^jp^rE^silperstru.eluriaj function. S^yJ^ i stj^ijiv e r s i о n ajms* "at att ach jn
g 1ogi с a 1 stress or additional emotional colouring "f 6. the sur-tacB rnganjng of..
ГНе*11ГГё^ intonation pattern is the inevitable satellTfe^lriversion.
Stylistic inversion in Modern English should not be regarded as a violation of the
norms of standard English. It is only the practical realization of what is potential in
the language itself.
The folIc^ing^^ are most frequently met in both English prose and English poetry.
1. The object Js placed at the beginning of the seatence (see the example above)7 "~
pl\_ ClUV^VN-/.
2. Theattribute is placed after the word it modifies (postposition Of the'attribute). This
model is often used when there is more than one attribute, for example: *
'"''""""""""""''With fingers weary and worn..." (Thomas Hood) "Once upon a midnight
dreary..." (E. A. Poe)
3. a) JThe predicative is {^jaЈe<i ^^ as in "A good generous prayer it was." (Mark
Twain)
or b) the predicative stands before the. link-verb and fajQlJlj^^Bjjiced^ before the
sutTject, as m
"Rude am I in my speech..." (Shakespeare)
4. JThe adyeriiijai^Qdifier is placed at the beginning pЈJ]i^eiT.tence, as in:
"Eagerly I wished the morrow." (Poe) "My dearest daughter, at your feet I fall."
(Dryderi) "A tone of most extraordinary comparison Miss Tox said it in."
(Dickens)
5. Both modifier and predicate stand before the subject, as in:
"In went Mr. Pickwick." (Dickens) "Down dropped the breeze..." (Coleridge)
These five models comprise the most^cqmrnori els of inversion.
However, in modern English and American poetry, as has been shown elsewhere,
there appears a definite tendency to experiment with the word-order to the extent
which may even render the message unintelligible, In this case there may be an almost
unlimited number of rearrangements of the members of the sentence.
Inversion s a stylistic: JjyiJs^ahvays sense-:notivЈtЈd
a tindencyTo^account for inversion in poetry by rhythmical c;oimder-
IRoHgrThls'may sometimes be true, but really talented poets will never sacrifice
sense for form and in the majority of cases inversion in poetry is called forth by
considerations of content rather than rhythm.
Inverted word-order, or inversion, is one of the forms of what are known as emphatic
constructions. What is generally called traditional word-order is iiotTiTrig~niore
"than" unemphatic construction. Emphatic constructions have so far been regarded as
non-typical structures and therefore are considered as violations of the regular
word-.order in the sentence. But in practice these structures are as common as the
lixed or traditional word-order structures. Theref ore^Tn'versTonnrnust'^e" re-garded
as afrexpressive means of tlie language havingJ^ypiSSil structural models.
Detached Construction
a sentence by some specific
consideration of the writer is placed so that it seems formally independ-
ent of Ще^ш^1У^^ parts of structures are called lie t ached. They seem_tCLjdanЈle in
the sentence as isolated parts. """""The detacfted part, being torn away from its
referenf, assumes a greater llegree of significance and is given prominence by
intonation. The structural patterns of detached constructions have not yet been
classified, but the most noticeable cases are those in which;.. aiLjIttri-bute or an
adverbiajjnqdifier is placed not in immediate proximity to Its referent, but in
somebiher positFon", aTTfi thefollowingexamples:
1) "Steyne rose up, grinding his teeth, pale, and with fury in
his eyes." (Thackeray)
2) "Sir Pitt came in first, very much flushed, and rather unsteady in his gait."
(Thackeray)
Sometimes a nominal phrase is thrown into the sentence forming a syntactical unit
with the rest of the sentence, as in:
"And he walked slowly past again, along the river—an evening of clear, quiet beauty,
all harmony and comfort, except within his heart." (Galsworthy)
The essential quality of detached construction lies in the fact that the isolated parts
represent a kind of independent whole thrust into The sentence or placed in a position
which will'make the phrase (or word) seem independent. But a detached phrase
cannot rise to the rank of a primary member of the sentence—it always remains
secondary from the semantic point of view, although structurally it possesses all the
features of a"primary:'~member. This clash of the structural and semantic aspects of
detached constructions produces the desired effect—forcing the reader to interpret the
logical connections between the component parts of the sentence. Logical ties
between them always exist in spite of the absence of syntactical indicators.
Detached constructions in their common forms make the written
vari^^^langua^l'jalcin to* the spoken variety where the relation between the
component parts is effectively materialized by means of into-TTation. Detached
construction, as it were, becomes a peculiar device bridging the norms of written and
spoken language.
This stylistic device is akin to inversion. The functions are almost the same. But
detached construction produces a much stronger effect, inasmuch as it presents 'parts
of the uttexance^significant from the author's ppiflt^Tyle^vIffi''T''.^^'nDif"'less
independent manner. " """"Here are some more examples of-detached
constructions:
"Daylight was dying, the moon rising, gold behind the poplars." (Galsworthy)
"'I want to go,7 he said, miserable" (Galsworthy) "She was lovely: all of her—
delightful." (Dreiser)
The italicized phrases and words in these sentences seem to be isolated, but still the
connection with the primary members of the corresponding sentences is clearly
implied. Thus 'gold behind the poplars' may be
interpreted as a simile or a metaphor: the moon like gold was rising behind the
poplars, or the moon rising, it was gold...
Detached construction sometimes causes the simultaneous realiza-tion~ofTwo
grammatical meanings of a word. In the "sentence" Ч want to go,' He said,
miserable", the last word might possibly have been understood as an adverbial
modifier to the word said if not for the comma, though grammatically miserably
would be expected. The pause indicated by the comma implies that miserable is an
adjective used absolutely and referring to the pronoun he.
The same can be said about Dreiser's sentence with the word delightful. Here again
the mark of punctuation plays an important role. The dash standing before the word
makes the word conspicuous and, being isolated, it becomes the culminating point of
the climax— lovely... —delightful, i. e. the peak of the whole utterance. The phrase
all of her is also somehow isolated. The general impression suggested by the implied
intonation, is a strong feeling of admiration; and, as is usually the case, strong feelings
reject coherent and logical syntax.
In the English language detached constructions are generally used in the belles-lettres
prose style and mainly with words that have some explanatory function, for example:
"June stood in front, fending off this idle curiosity — a little bit of a thing, as
somebody said, 'all hair and spirit'..."
(Galsworthy)
Detached_cpnstruction as a stylistic device is a typification of the synractical
peculiarities of colloquial language.
Detached construction is a stylistic phenomenon which has so far been little
investigated. The device itself;js_clQsely connected wiibLlUe intonation pattern of
the utterance. In conversation any word or phrase or even sentence may be made more
conspicuous by means of intonation. Therefore precision in the syntactical structure
of the sentence is not so necessary from the communicative point of view. But it
becomes vitally important in writing.1 Here precision of. syntactical-relations is the
only way to make the utterance fully communicative. Therefore when the syntactical
relations become obscure, each member of the sentence that seems to be dangling
becomes logically significant.
A variant of detached construction is p a re n t h e sis,
"Parenthesis is a qualifying, explanatory or appositive word^ phrase, clause, sentence,
or other sequence which interrupts^ syntactic construction without otherwise affecting
it, having often % cffafacteristic intonation and indicated in writing by commas,
brackets or dashes."2
In fact, parenthesis sometimes embodies a considerable volumejDf predicativeness,
thus giving the utterance.an. additional nuance of meaning or a tinge of emotional
colouring.
Parallel Construction
Parallel construction is a device which may be encountered not so much in the
sentence as in the macro-structures dealt with earlier, viz. the SPU and the paragraph.
The necessary condition in parallel construction is identical, or similar, syntactical
structure in two or more sentences or parts of a sentence in close succession, as in:
"There were, ..., real silver spoons to stir the tea with, and real china cups to drink it
out of, and plates of the same to hold the cakes and toast in." (Dickens)
Parallel constructions are often backed up by repetition of words (lexical repetition)
and conjunctions and prepositions (polysyndeton). Pure parallel construction,
however, does not depend on any other kind of repetition but the repetition of the
syntactical design of the sentence. Parallel constructions may be partial or complete.
Partial parallel arrangement is the repetition of some parts of successive sentences or
clauses, as in:
"It is the mob that labour in your fields and serve in your houses—that man your navy
and recruit your army,—that have enabled you to defy all the world, and can also defy
you when neglect and calamity have driven them to despair." (Byron)
The attributive clauses here all begin with the subordinate conjunction that which is
followed by a verb in the same form, except the last (have enabled). The verbs,
however, are followed either by adverbial modifiers of place (in your fields, in your
houses] or by direct objects (your navy, your army). The third attributive clause is not
built on the pattern of the first two, although it preserves the parallel structure in
general (that+verb-predicate+object), while the fourth has broken ^away entirely.
Complete parallel arrangement, also called balance, maintains the principle of
identical structures throughout the corresponding sentences, as in:
"The seeds ye sow — another reaps, The robes ye weave—another wears, The arips
ye forge — another bears."
(P. B. Shelley)
Parallel construction is most frequently used in enumeration, antithesis and in climax,
thus consolidating the general effect achieved by these stylistic devices.
Parallel construction is used in different styles of writing with slightly different
functions. When used in the matter-of-fact styles, it carries, in the main, the idea of
semantic equality of the parts, as in scientific prose, where the logical principle of
arranging ideas predominates. In the belles-lettres style parallel construction carries
an emotive function. That is why it is mainly used as a technical means in building up
other stylistic devices, thus securing their unity
In the following example parallelism backs up repetition, alliteration and antithesis,
making the whole sentence almost epigrammatic. "And so, from hour to hour, we ripe
and ripe, And then, from hour to hour, we rot and rot." (Shakespeare)
In the example below, parallel construction backs up the rhetorical address and
rhetorical questions. The emotional aspect is also enforced by the interjection
'Heaven!'
"Hear me, my mother Earth! behold it, Heaven! — •
Have I not had to wrestle with my lot?
Have I not suffered things to be forgiven?
Have I not had my brain seared, my heart riven,
Hopes sapped, name blighted, Life's life lied away?'* (Byron)
In some cases parallelism emphasizes the similarity and equates the significance of
the parts, as, for example:
"Our senses perceive no extremes. Too much sound deafens us; too much light
dazzles us; too great distance or proximity hinders our view."
In other cases parallel construction emphasizes diversity and contrast of ideas. (See
the example on p. 223 from the "Tale of Two Cities"
by Dickens).
As a final remark it must be stated that the device of parallelism always generates
rhythm, inasmuch as similar syntactical structures repeat in close succession. Hence it
is natural that parallel construction should very frequently be used in poetical
structures. Alternation of similar units being the basic principle of verse, similarity in
longer units — i. e. in the stanza, is to be expected.
Chiasmus (Reversed Parallel Construction)
Chiasmus belongs to the group of stylistic "devices based on the regetitionof, a
syntacrticaljjalifiEDU but it ll^_ЈJ^os^_OI^Ж-IiLжQI:ds and {ArSsSTTftF^
successive sentences or parts of a sentence may be described as reversed_garallЈl_
construction, thej\vordrorder_ of v IJ^ other,
"As high as we have mounted in delight In our dejection do we sink as low."
(Wordsworth) -
"Down dropped the breeze,
The sails dropped down" (Coleridge)
Chiasmus is sometimes achieved by a sudden change from active voice to passive or
vice versa, for example:
"The register of his burial was signed by the clergyman, the clerk, the undertaker and
the chief mourner. Scrooge signed it. (Dickens)
as in:
This device is effective in that it helps to lay stress on the second part of the utterance,
which is opposite in structure, as 'in our dejection'; 'Scrooge signed it*. This is due to
the sudden change in the structure which by its very unexpectedness linguistically
requires a slight pause before it.
As is seen from the examples above, chiasmus can appear only when there are two
successive sentences or coordinate parts of a sentence. So distribution, here close
succession, is the factor which predetermines the birth of the device.
There are different variants of the structural design of chiasmus. The first example
given shows chiasmus appearing in a complex sentence where the second part has an
opposite arrangement. The second example demonstrates chiasmus in a sentence
expressing semantically the relation of cause and effect. Structurally, however, the
two parts are presented as independent sentences, and it is the chiasmatic structure
which supports the idea of subordination. The third example is composed of two
independent sentences and the chiasmus serves to increase the effect of climax. Here
is another example of chiasmus where two parallel constructions are followed by a
reversed parallel construction linked to the former by the conjunction and:
!"The night winds sigh, the breakers roar, And shrieks the wild sea-mew." (Byron)
It must be remembered that chiasmus is a syntactical, not a lexical device, i. e. it is
only the arrangement of the parts of the utterance which constitutes this stylistic
device. In the famous epigram by Byron:
"In the days of old men made the manners', Manners now make men,"
there is no inversion, but a lexical device. Both parts of the parallel construction Jjave
the same, the^normal word-order. However, the witty arrangement of the words'has
given the utterance an epigrammatic character. This device may be classed as lexical
chiasmus or chiasmatic repetition. Byron particularly favoured it. Here are some other
examples:
"His jokes were sermons, and his sermons jokes" "'Tis strange,—but true; for truth is
always strange? "But Tom's no more^and so no more of Tom'' "True, 'tis a pity—pity
'tis, 4is true" "Men are the sport of circumstances, when The circumstances seem the
'sport of men." "'Tis a pity though, in this sublime world that Pleasure's a sin, and
sometimes sin's a pleasure."
Note the difference in meaning of the repeated words on which the epigrammatic
effect rests: 'strange—strange;' 'no more—no more', 'jokes—jokes.'
Syntactical chiasmus is sometimes used to break the monotony of parallel
constructions. But whatever the purpose of chiasmus, it will
always bring in some new shade of meaning or additional emphasis on some portion
of the second part.
The stylistic effect of this construction has been so far little investigated. But even
casual observation will show that chiasmus should be perceived as a complete unit.
One cannot help noticing that the first part in chiasmus is somewhat incomplete, it
calls for continuation, and the anticipation is rewarded by the second part of the
construction, which is, as it were, the completion of the idea.
Like parallel construction, chiasmus contributes to the rhythmical quality of the
utterance, and the pause caused by the change in the syntactical pattern may be
likened to a caesura in prosody.
As can be seen from this short analysis of chiasmus, it has developed, like all stylistic
devices, within the framework of the literary form of the language. However, its
prototype may be found in the norms of expressions of the spoken language, as in the
emphatic: 'He was a brave man, was John.'
Repetition
It has already been pointed out that r ej^e ti t i о п is1 an expressive means of
language used when the speaker is imder the stress of strong ""ей^зпг-Jt^^ as in the
following "passajgeTfom Galsworthy:
"Stop!"—she cried, "Don't tell me! / don't want to hear, I don't want to hear what
you've come for4/ don't want to hear."
The repetition of 'I don't want to hear', is not a stylistic device; it is a means by which
the excited state of mind of the speaker is shown. This state of mind always manifests
itself through intonation, which is suggested here by the words 'she cried'. In the
written language, before direct speech is introduced one can always find words
indicating the intonation, as sobbed, shrieked, passionately, etc. J. Vandryes writes:
"Repetition is also one of the devices, having its-origin in the emotive language.
Repetition when applied to the logical language becomes simply an 1п81г^еп^о!
^^а1Щпа1:._И8 origin is to be seen in the excitem^r^accompanymg the expression of
a feeling being brought to its highest tension."1
When used as a stylistic device, repetition acquires quite differen furtfflmTrlt"
doe^fl^^ O thencontrary, the stylistic device of repetition aims at logical emphasis, an
emphasis necessary to fix the "attention of the reader on the key-word of the
utterance. For example:
"For that was it! Ignorant of the long and stealthy march of passion, and of the state to
which it had reduced Fleur; ignorant of how Soames had watched her, ignorant of
Fleur's reckless
desperation... — ignorant of all this, everybody felt aggrieved." .> ,<3<~ “ч.З
(Galsworthy)
Repetition is classified, „according to compositional patterns. If rq^'te^^^orS^Tor
phrase) corrres at the beginning of two or more consecutive" sentences^ clauses or
phrases,' ""weT Have ~<Гпа p 'ТГсПГа, "asTn the example above. If the repeated
unit is placed at the end рГШп-secutive sentences, clauses or phrases, we have
the^Jtype of repetition called ep ip H 6 f a, as in:
"I am exactly the man to be placed in a superior position in such a case as that. I am
above the rest of mankind, in such a case as that. I can act with philosophy in such a
case as that.
(Dickens)
Here the repetition has a slightly different function: it becomes a ackground against
which the statements preceding^jy^_j^e_at.eijffiit are'made to stand out more
conspicuously. This may be called the ТПГ'с'К gr'o и n d f unct iohTir must be
observed, however^ that "the logical function of the repetition, to give emphasis, does
not fade when it assumes the background function. This is an additional function. С
Repetition may also be arranged in the form of a frame: the initial parts of a
syntactical unit, in most cases of a paragraph, are repeated at the end of it,
"Poor doWs dressmaker! How often so dragged down by hands that should have
raised her up; how often so misdirected when losing her way on the eternal road and
asking guidance. Poor, little doll's dressmaker". (Dickens)
This compositional pattern of repetition is called framing. The semantic nuances of
different compositional structures of repetition have been little looked into. But even a
superficial examination will show that framing,ATor example, makes the whole
utterance more compact aftd mo?e complete. Framing^is" most effective in singling
out paragraphs.
Among other compositional models of repetition is / inJ^J^njS or r e
djLfiJ,J',.^.^,.lIj2.^ (also known as -a n a d i p l о s i s). The sfruc-TGriToirfhis device
is the following: the last word or phraseof^pnejgart of an utterance is repeated at the*
begmnTng of the next part, thus hookingthe two partsback on his tracks arid pick up
his last word.
^ instead of moving on. seems foUouble
"Freeman and slave... earned on an uninterrupted, now hidden, now open fight, a fight
that' each time ended, either in a revolutionary re-constitution of society at large, or in
the common ruin of the contending classes." (Marx, Engels)
Any repetition of a unit of language will inevitably cause some slight modification of
meaning, a modification suggested by a noticeable change in the intonation with
which the repeated word is pronounced.
Sometimes a writer may use the linking device several times in one utterance, for
example:
"Л smile would come into Mr. Pickwick's face: the smile extended into a laugh: the
laugh into a roar, and the roar became general." (Dickens)
or:
"For glances beget ogles, ogles sighs, sighs wihes, wishes words,
and words a letter." (Byron)
This compositional pattern of repetition is also called chain-/jjZjJLLU-XUL /. <Ј ,a
В ,6* J •'-—•- . _ '''v/hat are the most obvious stylistic functions of repetition?
The first, the primary one,J^J^^jnJjSl^^ Intensification is the direct outcome
oTTH^"iisF*ofTneexpressive means employed in ordinary intercourse; but when used
in other compositional patterns, the immediate emotional charge is greatly suppressed
and is replaced by a purely aesthetic aim, as in the following example:
THE ROVER
A weary lot is thine, fair maid,
A weary tot is thine! To pull the thorn thy brow to braid,
And press the rue for wine. A lightsome eye, a soldier's mien
A feather of the blue, A doublet of the Lincoln green —*
No more of me you knew
My Love! No more of me you knew. (Walter Scott) ,„
Tjj^ejrepetition of the whole line in its full form requires intexpretati.on. <jЈ
SupeFTmear ImStysis based on associations aroused by the sense of '* the whole
poem suggests that this repetition expresses the regret of the Rover for his Love's
unhappy lot. Compare also the repetition in the line of Thomas Moore's:
"Those evening bells! Those evening bells!"
Meditation, sadness, reminiscence and other psychological and emotional states of
mind are suggested by the repetition of the phrase with the intensifier 'those'.
The distributional model of repetition, thЈ aim of which isjnten-sification, is simple: it
is immediate succession of the parts repeated/ Repetition may also stress monotony of
action, it may- suggest fatigue, or despair, or hopelessness, or doom, as in:
"What has my life been? Fag and grind, fag and grind. Turn the wheel, turn the
wheel" (Dickens)
Here the rhythm of the repeated parts makes the monotony and hopelessness of the
speaker's life still more keenly felt.
This function of repetition is to be observed in Thomas Hood's poem "The Song of
the Shirt" where different forms of repetition are employed.
"Work—work—work!
Till the brain begins to swim! Work—work—work
Till the eyes are heavy and dim! Seam, and gusset, and band,
Band, and gusset and seam,— Till over the buttons I fall asleep, And sew them on in
a dream." Of course, the main idea, that of long and exhausting work, is expressed by
lexical means: work 'till the brain begins to swim' and 4he eyes are heavy and dim7,
till, finally, 'I fall asleep.' But the repetition here strongly enforces this idea and,
moreover, brings in additional nuances of meaning.
In grammars it is pointed out that the repetition of words connected by the conjunct
ion and will express reiteration or frequentative action. For example:
"Fledgeby knocked and rang, and Fledgeby rang and knocked, but no one came."
There are phrases containing repetition which have become lexical units of the
English language, as on and on, ^^^.^i^Qver^jagqtn and again and others. They all
express repetition or continuity of the action, as in:
"He played the tune over and over again."
Sometimes this shade of meaning is backed up by meaningful words, as in:
I sat desperately, working and working.
They talked and talked all night.
The telephone fang and rang but no one answered.
The idea oLcontinuity is expressed here not only by the repetition but also by
modifiers such as 'all night'.
Background repetition, which we have already pointed out, is sometimes used to
stress the ordinarily unstressed elements of the utterance. Here is a good example:
"I am attached to you. But / can't consent and won't consent and I never did consent
and / never will consent to be lost in you." (Dickens)
The emphatic element in this utterance is not the repeated word 'consent' but the
modal words 'can't', 'won't', 'will', and also the emphatic 'did'. Thus the repetition here
loses its main function and only serves as a means by which other elements are made
to stand out clear-fylIt is worthy of note that in this sentence very strong stress falls-
on the modal verbs and 'did' but not on the repeated 'consent* as is usually the case
with the stylistic device.
Like many stylistic devices, repetition is polyfunctional. The functions enumerated do
not cover all its varieties. One of those already 214
mentioned, the rhythmical function, must not be under-estimated when studying the
effects produced by repetition. Most of the examples given above give rhythm to the
utterance. In fact, any repetition enhances the rhythmical aspect of the utterance.
There is a variety of repetition which we shall call "root-repetition",
as in:
"To live again in the youth of the young." (Galsworthy)
or,
"He loves a dodge for its own sake; being...—the dodgerest of all the
dodgers" (Dickens)
or,
"Schemmer, Karl Schemmer, was a brute, a brutish brute." (London)
In root-repetition it is not the same words that are repeated but the "same root.
Consequently we are faced with different words having different meanings
(youth:young', brutish: brute), but the shades of meaning are "perfectly clear.
Another variefy of repetition may be called s у п о пут i с a I repetition. This is the
repetition of the same idea by using synonymous words and jphfases which by adding
a slightly different nuance of meaning intensify the impact of the utterance, as in.
"...are there not capital punishments sufficient in your statutes'? Is there not blood
enough upon your penal code!" (Byron)
Here the meaning of the words 'capital punishments' and 'statutes* is repeated in the
next sentence by the contextual synonyms 'blood' and 'penal code'.
Here is another example from Keats' sonnet "The Grasshopper and
the Cricket."
"The poetry of earth is never dead... -The poetry of earth is ceasing never..."
'There are two terms frequently used to show the negative attitude of the critic to all
kinds of synonymical repetitions. These are p I e о-"*" /ГаТШ and ta и to I o g y.
The Shorter Oxford Dictionary defines pleonasm as "the use of more words in a
sentence than are necessary to express the meaning; redundancy of expression."
Tautology is defined &" as "the repetition of the same statement; the repetition
(especially in < the immediate context) of the same word or phrase or of the same
idea or statement in other words; usually as a fault of style." Here are two examples
generally given as illustrations:
"It was a clear starry night, and not a cloud was to be seen"
"He was the only survivor; no one else was saved"
It is not necessary to distinguish between these two terms, the distinction being very
fine. Any repetition may be found faulty if it is not motivated by the aesthetic purport
of the writer. On the other hand, any seemingly unnecessary repetition of words or of
ideas expressed in different words may be justified by the aim of the communication
For example, "The daylight is fading, the sun is setting, and night is coming on" as
given in a textbook of English composition is regarded as tautological, whereas the
same sentence may serve as an artistic example depicting the approach of night.
A certain Russian literary critic has wiittily called pleonasm "stylistic elephantiasis/' a
disease in which the expression d'f'TiTieTSea'^wells
up* arid loses its force. Pleonasm may also_be called "the art of wordy
—• ~ --••••• ••“ — - - .-~~M4~...^.№.~~v~.~ —.., _..
"Both pleonasm and, tautology may be acceptable in oratory inasmuch as they help
the au.di.ence.,to.Јraspjhe meaning of the utterance. 1ц this case, however, the
repetition of ide^jfsli^^ although it may have no aesthetic function! '~'" —"-—•”**•
——~,,-..,
Enumeration
E n и т е г a tion is a stylistic device by which separate things, objects, phenomena,
properties, actions are named one by one so that they produce a chain, the links of
which, being syntactically in the same position (homogeneous parts of speech), are
forced to display some kind of semantic homogeneity, remote though it may seem.
Most of our notions are associated with other notions due to some kind of relation
between them: dependence, cause and result, likeness, dissimilarity, sequence,
experience (personal and/or social), proximity, etc.
In fact, it is the associations plus social experience that have resulted in the formation
of what is known as "semantic fields." Enumeration, as an SD, may be conventionally
called a sporadic semantic field, inasmuch as many cases of enumeration have no
continuous existence in their manifestation as semantic fields do. The grouping of
sometimes absolutely heterogeneous notions occurs only in isolated instances to meet
some peculiar purport of the writer.
Let us examine the following cases of enumeration:
"There Harold gazes on a work divine,
A blending of all beauties; streams and dells,
Fruit, foliage, crag, wood, cornfield, mountain, vine
And chiefless castles breathing stern farewells
From grey but leafy walls, where Ruin greenly dwells." (Byron)
There is hardly anything in this enumeration that could be regarded as making some
extra impact on the reader. Each word is closely associated semantically with the
following and preceding words in the enumeration, and the effect is what the reader
associates with natural scenery. The utterance is perfectly coherent and there is no halt
in the natural flow of the communication. In other words, there is nothing specially to
arrest the reader's attention; no effort is required to decipher the message: it yields
itself easily to immediate perception.
That is not the case in the following passage:
"Scrooge was his sole executor, his sole administrator, his sole 216
assign, his sole residuary legatee, his sole friend and his sole mourner." (Dickens)
The enumeration here is heterogeneous; the legal terms placed in a string with such
words as 'friend' and 'mourner' result in a kind of clash, a thing typical of any stylistic
device. Here there is a clash between terminological vocabulary and common neutral
words. In addition there is a clash of concepts: 'friend' and 'mourner' by force of enu-
meration are equal in significance to the business office of 'executor', 4administrator',
etc. and also to that of 'legatee'.
Enumeration is frequently used as a device to depict scenery through a tourist's eyes,
as in Galsworthy's "To Let":
"Fleur's wisdom in refusing to write to him was profound, for he reached each new
place entirely without hope or fever, and could concentrate immediate attention on the
donkeys and tumbling bells, the priests, patios, beggars, children, crowing cocks,
sombreros, cactus-hedges, old high white villages, goats, olive-trees, greening plains,
singing birds in tiny cages, watersellers, sunsets, melons, mules, great churches,
pictures, and swimming grey-brown mountains of a fascinating land."
The enumeration here is worth analysing. The various elements of this enumeration
can be approximately grouped in semantic fields:
1) donkeys, mules, crowing cocks, goats, singing birds;
2) priests, beggars, children, watersellers;
3) villages, patios, cactus-hedges, churches, tumbling bells, sombreros, pictures;
4) sunsets, swimming grey-brown mountains, greening plains, olive-trees, melons.
Galsworthy found it necessary to%arrange them not according to logical semantic
centres, but in some other order; in one which, apparently, would suggest the rapidly
changing impressions of a tourist. Enumeration of this kind assumes a stylistic
function and may.therefore be regarded as a stylistic device, inasmuch as the objects
in the enumeration are not distributed in logical order and therefore become striking.
This heterogeneous enumeration gives one an insight into the mind of the observer,
into his love of the exotic, into the great variety of miscellaneous objects which
caught his eye, it gives an idea of the progress of his travels and the most striking
features of the land of Spain as seen by one who is in love with the country. The parts
of the enumeration may be likened to the strokes of a painter's brush who by an
inimitable choice of colours presents to our eyes an unforgettable image of the life
and scenery of Spain. The passage itself can be likened to a picture drawn for you
while you wait.
Here is another example of heterogeneous enumeration:
"The principal production of these towns... appear to be soldiers, sailors, Jews, chalk,
shrimps, officers and dock-yard men"(Dickens, "Pickwick Papers")
Suspense
S usp eji se i s a comppsitionjl device which consists in arranging the fffaFEe? of a
commjuhTcation in such a way that the less important, "descriptive, subordinate parts
are amassed af the beginning, the main idea being withheld till the end of the
sentence. THus the reader's attention is held and his interest kept up, for example:
"Mankind, says a Chinese manuscript, which my friend M. was obliging enough to
read and explain to me, for the first seventy thousand ages ate their meat raw''
(Charles Lamb)
Sentences of this type are called p.er.iodi c.sen ten с е s, or periods. Their function is
to create „suspense, to keep the reader ma state of uncertainty and expectation.
Here is a good example of the piling up of details so as to create a state of suspense in
the listeners:
"But suppose it * passed; suppose one of these men, as I have seen them,— meagre
with famine, sullen with despair, careless of a life which your Lordships are perhaps
about to value at something less than the price of a stocking-frame: — suppose this
man surrounded by the children for whom he is unable to procure bread at the hazard
of his existence, about to be torn for ever from a family which he lately supported in
peaceful industry, and which it is not his fault that he can no longer so support; —
suppose this man, and there are ten thousand such from whom you may select your
victims, dragged into court, to be tried for this new offence, by this new law; still
there are two things wanting to convict and condemn him; and these are, in my
opinion,— twelve butchers for a jury, and a Jeffreys for a judge!" (Byron)
Here the subject of-the subordinate clause of concession ('one of these
men')is**repeated twice, ('tlfis man', 'this man'), each time followed by a number of
subordinate parts, before the predicate ('dragged') is reached. All this is drawn
together in the principal clause ('there are two things wanting...'), which was expected
and prepared for by the logically incomplete preceding statements. But the suspense is
not yet broken: what these two things are, is still withheld until the orator comes to
the words 'arid these are, in my opinion.'
Suspense and climax s4ometimes go together. In this case all the information
contained in the series of statement-clauses preceding the solution-statement are
arranged in the order of gradation, as in the example above from Byron's maiden
speech in the House of Lords.
The device of suspense is especially favoured by orators. This is apparently due to the
strong influence of intonation „which helps to create the desired atmosphere^бТ
^expectation and emotional tension which goes with It. ^^^
1 A proposed law permitting the death penalty for breaking machines (at the time of
the Luddite movement).
Suspense always requires long stretches of speech or .writing- Some-tiiriesTthe whole
of a poem is built"on this stylistic device, as is the case with Kipling's poem "If"
where all the eight stanzas consist of //-clauses and only the last two lines constitute
the principal clause.
"/f you can keep your head when all about you
Are losing theirs and blaming it on you,
// you can trust yourself when all men doubt you
And make allowance for their doubting too,
// you can dream and not make dreams your master, // you can think and not make
thoughts your aim,
Yours is the earth and everything that's in it,... And which is more, you'll be a Man,
my son."
This device is effective in more than one way, but the main purpose is to prepare the
reader for the only logical conclusion"bf the иЦегддсеГ* It is a psychological effect
that is aimed at in particular.
A series of рагШёГ question-sentences containing subordinate parts is another
structural pattern based on the principle of suspense, for the answer is withheld for a
time, as in Byron's "The Bride of Abydos": "Know ye the land where the cypress and
myrtle... Know ye the land of the cedar and vine...
'Tis the clime of the East— 'tis the land of the Sun."
The end of an utterance is a specially emphatic part of it. Therefore if we keep the
secret of a communication until we reach the end, it will lead to concentration of the
reader's or listener's attention, and this is the effect .sought.
One more example to show how suspense can be maintained:
"Proud of his "Hear him!" proud, too, of his vote, And lost virginity of oratory, Proud
of his learning (just enough to quote) He revell'd in his Ciceronian glory." (Byron)
It must be noted that suspense, due to its partly psychological nature (it arouses a
feeling of3.xpectation), is framed in оце sentence, for there ^musl ^ the infpnatipn
pattern, /Separate sentences would violate the principle of constant emotional tension
which is characteristic of this device.
Climax (Gradation)
Climax is an arrangement of sentences (or of the homogeneous parts of one sentence)
which secures a gradual increase in significance, importance, or emotional tension in
the utterance, as in:
"It was a lovely city, a beautiful city, a fair city, a veritable gem of a city"
or in: bj! "Ne barrier wall, ne river deep and wide, l\ Ne horrid crags,
nor mountains dark and tall Rise like the rocks that part Hispania's land from Gaul."
(Byron)
Gradual increase in emotional evaluation in the first illustration and in significance in
the second is realized by the distribution of the corresponding lexical items. Each
successive unit is perceived as stronger than the preceding one. Of course, there are
no objective linguistic criteria to estimate the degree of importance or significance of
each constituent. It is only the formal homogeneity of these component parts and the
test of synonymy in the words 'lovely', 'beautiful', 'fair,' 'veritable gem' in the first
example and the relative inaccessibility of the barriers 'wall', 'river', 'crags',
'mountains' together with the epithets 'deep and wide', 'horrid', 'dark and tall' that
make us feel the increase in importance of each.
A gradual increase in significance may be maintained in three ways: logical,
emotional and quantitative.
Logical с I i т а х is based on the relative importance of the component parts looked at
from the point of view of the concepts embodied in them. This relative importance
may be evaluated both objectively and subjectively, the author's attitude towards the
objects or phenomena in question being disclosed. Thus, the following paragraph
from Dickens's "Christmas Carol" shows the relative importance in the author's mind
of the things and phenomena described:
"Nobody ever stopped him in the street to say, with gladsome looks, 'My dear
Scrooge, how are you? When will you come to see me?' No beggars imgjored him to
bestow a trifle, no children asked Jiim what it -was o'clock, no man or woman ever
once in all his life inquired the way to such and such a place, of Scrooge. Even the
blind men's dogs appeared to know him, and when they saw him coming on, would
tug their owners into doorways and up courts; and then would wag their tails, as
though they said, 'No eye at all is better than #n evil eye, dark master!'"
The order of the statements shows what the author considers the culmination of the
climax. The passage by Dickens should be considered "subjective", because there is
no general recognition of the relative significance of the statements in the paragraph.
The climax in the lines from Byron's "Ne barrier..." may be considered "objective"
because such things as 'wall', 'river', 'crags', 'mountains' are objectively ranked
according to their accessibility.
Emotional с I i т а х is based on the relative emotional tension produced by words
with emotive meaning, as in the first example with the words 'lovely', 'beautiful', 'fair'.
Of course, emotional climax based on synonymous strings of words with emotive
meaning will inevitably cause certain semantic differences
in these words — such is the linguistic nature of stylistic synonyms—, but emotive
meaning will be the prevailing one.
Emotional climax is mainly found in sentences, more rarely in longer syntactical
units. This is natural. Emotional charge cannot hold long. As becomes obvious from
the analysis of the above examples of climatic order, the arrangement of the
component parts calls for parallel construction which, being a kind of syntactical
repetition, is frequently accompanied by lexical repetition. Here is another example of
emotional climax built on this pattern: p "He was pleased when the child began to
adventure across $ floors on hand and knees; he was gratified, when she
managed the trick of balancing herself on two legs; he was delighted when she first
said 'ta-ta'; and he was rejoiced when she recognized him and smiled at him." (Alan
Paton)
Finally, we come to quantitative climax. This is an evident increase in the volume of
the corresponding concepts, as in:
"They looked at hundreds of houses; they climbed thousands of stairs; they inspected
innumerable kitchens." (Maugham)
Here the climax is achieved by simple numerical increase. In the following example
climax is materialized by setting side by side concepts of measure and time:
"Little by little, bit by bit, and day by day, and 'year by year the baron got the worst of
some disputed question." (Dickens)
What then are the indispensable constituents of climax? They are:
a) the distributional constituent: close proximity of the component parts arranged in
increasing order of importance or significance;
b) the syntactical pattern: parallel constructions with possible lexical
repetition;
c) the connotative constituent: the explanatory context which helps the reader to grasp
the gradation, as no... ever once in all his life*, nobody ever, nobody, No beggars
(Dickens); deep and wide, horrid, dark and tall (Byron); veritable (gem of a city).
Climax, like many other stylistic devices, is a means by which the author discloses his
world, outlook, his evaluation of objective facts and phenomena. The concrete
stylistic function of this device is to show the relative importance of things as seen by
the author (especially in emotional climax), or to impress upon the reader the
significance of the things described by suggested comparison, or to depict phenomena
dynamically.1
1 Note: There is a device which is called anticlimax. The ideas expressed may be
arranged in ascending order of significance, or they may be poetical or elevated, but
the final one, which the reader expects to be the culminating one, as in climax, is
trifling or farcical. There is a sudden drop from the lofty or serious to the ridiculous.
A typical example is Aesop's fable "The Mountain in Labour."
"In days of yore, a mighty rumbling was heard in a Mountain. It was said to be in
labour, and multitudes flocked together, from far and near, to see what
Antithesis
In order to characterize a thing or phenomenon from a specific point of view, it may
be necessary not to find points of resemblance or association between it and some
other thing or phenomenon, but to find points of sharp contrast, that is, to set one
against the other, for example: "A saint abroad, and a devil at home" (Bunyan) "Better
to reign in hell than serve in heaven." (Milton)
A line of demarcation must be drawn between logical opposition and stylistic
opposition. Any opposition will be based on the contrasting features of two objects.
These contrasting features are represented in pairs of words which we call antonyms,
provided that all the properties of the two objects in question may be set one against
another, as 'saint' —'devil', 'reign'—'serve', 'hell'—'heaven'.
Many word-combinations are built up by means of contrasting pairs, as up and down,
inside and out, from top to bottom and the like.
Stylistic opposition, which is given a special name, the term a n-t i t h e s i s, is of a
different linguistic nature: it is based on relative opposition which arises out of the
context through the expansion of objectively contrasting pairs, as in:
"Youth is lovely, age is lonely,
Youth is fiery, age is frosty;" (Longfellow)
Here the objectively contrasted pair is 'youth' and 'age'. 'Lovely' and 'lonely' cannot be
regarded as objectively opposite concepts, but being drawn into the scheme
contrasting 'youth' and 'age', they display certain features which may be counted as
antonymical. This is strengthened also by the next line where not only 'youth' and
'age' but also 'fiery' and 'frosty' are objective antonyms.
It is not only the semantic aspect which explains the linguistic nature of antithesis, the
structural pattern also plays an important role. Antithesis is generally moulded in
parallel construction. The antagonistic features of the two objects or phenomena are
more easily perceived when they stand out in similar structures. This is particularly
advantageous when the antagonistic features are not inherent in the objects in
question but imposed on them. The structural design of antithesis is so important
it would produce. Aftervlong expectation and many wise conjectures from the by-
standers—out popped, a Mouse!"
Here we have deliberate anticlimax, which is a recognized form of humour. Anti-
climax is frequently used by humorists Hke Mark Twain and Jerome K- Jerome.
In "Three Men in a Boat", for example, a poetical passage is invariably followed by
ludicrous scene. For example, the author expands on the beauties of the sunset on the
river and concludes:
"But we didnt sail into the world of golden sunset: we went slap into that old punt
where the gentlemen were fishing"
Another example is:
"This war-like speech, received with many a cheer, Had filled them with desire of
fame, and beer" (Byron)
that unless it is conspicuously marked in the utterance, the effect might
be lost.
It must be remembered, however, that so strong is the impact of the various stylistic
devices, that they draw into their orbit stylistic elements not specified as integral parts
of the device. As we have pointed out, this is often the case with the epithet. The same
concerns antithesis. Sometimes it is difficult to single out the elements which distin-
guish it from logical opposition.
Thus in Dickens's "A Tale of Two Cities" the first paragraph is practically built on
opposing pairs.
"It was the best of times, it was the worst of times, it was the age of wisdom, it was
the age of foolishness, it was the epoch of belief, it was the epoch of incredulity, if
was the season of Light, it was the season of Darkness, it was the spring of hope, it
was the winter of despair, We had everything before us, we had nothing before us, we
were all going direct to Heaven, we are all going direct the other way..." (Dickens)
The structural pattern of the utterance, the pairs of objective antonyms as well as of
those on which antonymical meanings are imposed by the force of analogy makes the
whole paragraph stylistically significant, and the general device which makes it so is
antithesis.
This device is often signalled by the introductory connective but, as in:
"The cold in clime are cold in blood
Their love can scarce deserve the name;
But mine was like a lava flood.
That boils in Etna's breast of flame." (Byron)
When but is used as a signal of antithesis, the other structural signal, the parallel
arrangement, may not be evident. It may be unnecessary, as in the example above.
Antithesis is a device bordering between stylistics and logic. The extremes are easily
discernible but most of the cases are intermediate. However, it is essential to
distinguish between antithesis arid what is termed contrast. Contrast is a literary (not a
linguistic) device based on logical opposition between the phenomena set one against
another. Here is a good example of contrast.
THE RIVER
"The river—with the sunlight flashing from its dancing wavelets, gilding gold the
grey-green beech-trunks, glinting through the dark, cool wood paths, chasing shadows
o'er the shallows, flinging diamonds from the mill-wheels, throwing kisses to the
lilies, wantoning with the weir's white waters, silvering moss-grown walls and
bridges, brightening every tiny townlet, making sweet each lane and meadow, lying
tangled in the rushes, peeping, laughing, from each inlet, gleaming gay on many a far
sail, making soft the air with glory—is a golden fairy stream.
But the river—chill and weary, with the ceaseless rain drops falling on its brown and
sluggish waters, with the sound as of a woman, weeping low in some dark chamber,
while the woods all dark and silent, shrouded in their mists of vapour, stand like
ghosts upon the margin, silent ghosts with eyes reproachful like the ghosts of evil
actions, like the ghosts of friends neglected— is a spirit-haunted water through the
land of vain regrets." (Jerome K. Jerome)
The two paragraphs are made into one long span of thought by the signal But and the
repetition of the word river after which in both cases a pause is indicated by a dash
which suggests a different intonation pattern of the word river. The opposing
members of the contrast are the 'sunlight flashing'—'ceaseless rain drops falling';
'gilding gold the grey-green beech-trunks, glinting through the dark, cool wood
paths'— 'the woods, all dark and silent, shrouded in their mists of vapour, stand like
ghosts...'; 'golden fairy stream'—'spirit-haunted water'.
Still there are several things lacking to show a clear case of a stylistic device, viz. the
words involved in the opposition do not display any additional nuance of meaning
caused by being opposed one to another; there are no true parallel constructions
except, perhaps, the general pattern of the two paragraphs, with all the descriptive
parts placed between the grammatical subject and predicate, the two predicates
serving as a kind of summing up, thus completing the contrast.
'The river... is a golden fairy stream.'—'But the river ... is a spirit-haunted water
through the land of vain regrets.' The contrast embodied in these two paragraphs is,
however, akin to the stylistic device of antithesis.
Antithesis has the following basic functions: rhythm-forming (because of the parallel
arrangement on which it is founded); copulative; dissevering; comparative. These
functions often go together and intermingle in their own peculiar manner. But as a
rule antithesis displays one of the functions more clearly than the others. This
particular function will then be the leading one in the given utterance. An interesting
example of antithesis where the comparative function is predominant is the madrigal
ascribed to Shakespeare:
- ч A MADRIGAL
"Crabbed age and youth Cannot live together:
Youth is full of pleasance, Age is full of care;
Youth like summer morn, Age like winter weather,
Youth like summer brave, Age like winter bare:
Youth is full of sport, Age's breath is short,
Youth is nimble, Age is lame:
Youth is hot and bold,
Age is weak and cold, Youth is wild, and Age is tame:—
Age, I do abhore thee,
Youth, I do adore thee; О my Love, my Love is young!
Age, I do defy thee—
О sweet shepherd, hie thee.
For methinks thou stay'st too long.

D. PARTICULAR WAYS OF COMBINING PARTS OF THE UTTERANCE


(LINKAGE)
Much light can be thrown on the nature of / i n k a g e if we do not confine the
problem to such notions as coordination and subordination. Most of the media which
serve as grammatical forms for combining parts within the sentence have been
investigated and expounded in grammars with sufficient clarity and fullness. But
sentence-linking features within larger-than-the-sentence structures—SPUs,
paragraphs and still larger structures — have so far been very little under observation.
The current of fashion at present, due to problems raised by text-linguistics, runs in
the" direction of investigating ways and means of combining different stretches of
utterances with the aim of disclosing the wholeness of the work. Various scientific
papers single out the following media which can fulfil the structural function of
uniting various parts of utterances: repetition (anaphora, epiphora, anadiplosis,
framing), the definite article, the demonstrative pronouns, the personal pronouns, the
use of concord (in number, form of tenses, etc.), adverbial words and phrases
(however, consequently, it follows then, etc.), prosodic features . (contrastive tone,
the "listing" intonation pattern), parallel constructions, chiasmus, sustained metaphors
and similes, and a number of other means.1
The definition of means of combining parts of an-utterance,,-rests on the assumption
that any unit of language might, in particular cases, turn into a connective. Such
phrases as that is to say, it goes without saying, for the which, however, the preceding
statement and the like should also be regarded as connectives. It follows then that the
capacity to serve as a connective is an inherent property of a great number of words
and phrases if they are set in a position which calls forth continuation of a thought or
description of an event.
To follow closely how parts of an utterance are connected and to clarify the type of
interdependence between these parts is sometimes difficult either because of the
absence of formal signs of linkage (asyndeton), or because of the presence of too
many identical signs (polysyndeton).
Asyndeton
Asyndeton, that is, connection between parts of a sentence or between sentences
without any formal sign, becomes a stylistic device if there is a deliberate omission of
the connective where it is generally expected to be according to the norms of the
literary language. Here is an example:
"Soames turned away; he had an utter disinclination for talk like one standing before
an open grave, watching a coffin slowly lowered." (Galsworthy)
The deliberate omission of the subordinate conjunction because or for makes the
sentence 'he had an utter...' almost entirely independent. It might be perceived as a
characteristic feature of Soames in general, but for the comparison beginning with
like, which shows that Soames's mood was temporary.
Here a reminder is necessary that there is an essential difference between the ordinary
norms of language, both literary and colloquial, and stylistic devices which are
skilfully wrought for special informative and aesthetic purposes. In the sentence:
"Bicket did not answer his throat felt too dry." (Galsworthy) the absence of the
conjunction and a punctuation mark may be regarded as a deliberate introduction of
the norms of colloquial speech into the literary language. Such structures make the
utterance sound like one syntactical unit to be pronounced in one breath group. This
determines the intonation pattern.
It is interesting to compare the preceding two utterances from the point of view of the
length of the pause between the constituent parts. In the first utterance (Soames...),
there is a semicolon which, being the indication of a longish pause, breaks the
utterance into two parts. In the second utterance (Bicket...), no pause should be made
and the whole of the utterance.pronounced аз one syntagm.
The crucial p>oblem in ascertaining the true intonation pattern of
a sentence composed of two or more parts lies in a deeper analysis of
the functions of the connectives, on the one hand, and a more detailed
investigation of graphical means—the signals indicating the correct
interpretation of the utterance—, on the other,
Polysyndeton
Polysyndeton is the stylistic device of connecting sentences, or phrases, or syntagms,
or words'by using connectives (mostly conjunctions and prepositions) before each
component part, as in:
"The heaviest rain, and snow, and hail, and sleet, could boast qf the advantage over
him in only one respect." (Dickens)
In this passage from Longfellow's "The Song of Hiawatha", there is ^repetition both
of conjunctions and prepositions:
"Should you ask me, whence these stories?
' Whence these legends and traditions, With the odours of the forest, With the dew,
and damp of meadows, With the curling smoke of wigwams, With the rushing of
great rivers, With their frequent repetitions,..."
The repetition of conjunctions and other means of connection makes an utterance
more rhythmical; so much so that prose may even seem like verse. The conjunctions
and other connectives, being generally unstressed elements, when placed before each
meaningful member, will cause the alternation of stressed and unstressed syllables —
the essential requirement of rhythm in verse. Hence, one of the functions of
polysyndeton is a rhythmical one.
In addition to this, polysyndeton has a disintegrating function. It generally combines
homogeneous elements of thought into one whole resembling enumeration. But,
unlike enumeration, which integrates both homogeneous and heterogeneous elements
into one whole, polysyndeton causes each member of a string of facts to stand out
conspicuously. That is why we say that polysyndeton has a disintegrating function.
Enumeration shows things united; polysyndeton shows them isolated. ;
Polysyndeton has also the function of expressing sequence, as in:
"Then Mr. Boffin... sat staring at a little bookcase of Law Practice and Law Reports,
and at a window, and at an empty blue bag, and a stick of sealing-wax, and at a pen,
and a box of wafers, and an apple, and a writing-pad — all very dusty — and at a
number of inky smears and blots, and at an imperfectly disguised gun-case pretending
to be something legal, and at an iron box labelled "Harmon Estate", until Mr.
Lightwood appeared." (Dickens)
All these ands may easily be replaced by thens. But in this case too much stress would
be laid on the logical aspects of the utterance, whereas and expresses both sequence
and disintegration.
Note also that Dickens begins by repeating not only and, but also at. But in the middle
of the utterance he drops the at, picks it up again, drops it once more and then finally
picks it up and uses it with the last three items.
The Gap- Sentence Link
There is a peculiar type of connection of sentences which for want of a term we shall
call the g ap-s en fence link (GSL). The connection is not immediately apparent and it
requires a certain mental effort to grasp the interrelation between the parts of the
utterance, in other words, to bridge the semantic gap. Here is an example:
"She and that fellow ought in Italy" (Galsworthy)
to be the sufferers, and they were
In this sentence the second part, which is hooked on to the first by the conjunction
and, seems to be unmotivated or, in other words, the whole sentence seems to be
logically incoherent. But this is only the first impression. After a more careful
supralinear semantic analysis it becomes clear that the exact logical variant of the
utterance would be:
'Those who ought to suffer were enjoying themselves in Italy (where well-to-do
English people go for holydays).'
Consequently, GSL is a way of connecting two sentences seemingly unconnected and
leaving it to the reader's perspicacity to grasp the idea implied, but not worded.
Generally speaking, every detail of the situation need not be stated. Some must
remain for the reader to divine.
As in many other cases, the device of GSL is deeply rooted in the norms of the
spoken language. The omissions are justified because the situation easily prompts
what has not been said. The proper intonation also helps in deciphering the
communication. It is also natural in conversation to add a phrase to a statement made,
a phrase which will point to uncertainty or lack of knowledge or to the
unpredictability of the possible issue, etc., as in:
says nothing, but it is clear that she is harping on this engagement, and — goodness
knows what." (Galsworthy)
In writing, where the situation is explained by the ,writer and the intonation is only
guessed at, such breaks in the utterance are regarded as stylistic devices. The gap-
sentence link requires a certain mental effort to embrace the unexpressed additional
information.
The gap-sentence link is generally indicated by and or but. There is no asyndetic
GSL, inasmuch as connection by asyndeton can be carried out only by semantic ties
easily and immediately perceived. These ties are, as it were, substitutes for the formal
grammatical means of connection. The gaft-sentehce link has no immediate semantic
connections, therefore it requires formal indications of connection. It demands an
obvious break in the semantic texture of the utterance and forms an "unexpected
semantic leap."
The possibility of filling in the semantic gap depends largely on associations
awakened by the two sentences linked cumulatively. In the following utterance ihЈ
connection betwreen the two sentences needs no comment.
"It was an afternoon to dream. And she took out Jon's letters." (Galsworthy) *
While maintaining the unity of the utterance syntactically the author leaves the
interpretation of the link between the two sentences to the mind of the reader. It is the
imaginative mind only that can decode a message expressed by a stylistic device.
Nowhere do the conjunctions and and but acquire such varied expressive shades of
meaning as in GSL constructions. It is these nuances that cause the peculiar intonation
with which and or but are pronounced. Thus in the following sentence the
conjunction and is made very conspicuous by the intonation signalled.
by the dash:
"The Forsytes were resentful of something, not Individually, but as a family, this
resentment expressed itself in an added perfection of raiment, an exuberance of family
cordiality, an exaggeration of family importance, and—the sniff" (Galsworthy)
The GSL and—the sniff is motivated. Its association with 'an exaggeration of family
importance' is apparent. However, so strong is the emotive meaning of the word sniff
that it overshadows the preceding words which are used in their primary, exact,
logical meanings. Hence the dash after and to add special significance to the
cumulative effect. This example shows that GSL can be accompanied by semantic
gaps wider or narrower as the case may be. In this example the gap is very narrow and
therefore the missing link is easily restored. But sometimes the gap is so wide that it
requires a deep supralinear semantic analysis to get at the implied meaning. Thus in
the following example from Byron's maiden speech: "And here I must remark with
what alacrity you are accustomed to fly to the succour of your distressed allies,
leaving the distressed of your own country to the care of Providence or—the parish"
Here the GSL, maintained by or and followed by the dash, which indicates a rather
long pause, implies that the parish, which was supposed to care for impoverished
workers, was unable to do so.
By its intrinsic nature the conjunction, but can justify the apparently unmotivated
coupling of two unconnected statements. Thus, in the following passage GSL is
maintained by and, backed up by but.
"It was not Capetown, where people only frowned when they saw a black boy and a
white girl. But here... And he loved her" (Abrahams)
The gap-sentence link as a stylistic device is based on the peculiarities of the spoken
language and is therefore most frequently used in represented speech. It is GSL
alongside other characteristics that moulds the device of unuttered represented speech.
The gap-sentence link has various functions. It may serve to signal the introduction of
inner represented speech; it may be used to indicate a subjective evaluation of the
facts; it rnay introduce an effect resulting from a cause which has already had verbal
expression. In all these functions GSL displays an unexpected coupling of ideas. Even
the cause- * and-effect relations, logical as they are, when embodied in GSL
structures are not so obvious.
In contra-diitinction to the logical segmentation of the utterance, which leaves no
room for personal interpretation of the interdependence of the component parts, GSL
aims at stirring up in the reader's mind the suppositions, associations and conditions
under which the' sentence uttered can really exist.

E. PARTICULAR USE OF COLLOQUIAL CONSTRUCTIONS


We have already pointed out some of the constructions which bear an imprint of
emotion in the very arrangement of the words, whether they are neutral or stylistically
coloured (see" p. 39). Such constructions are almost exclusively used in lively
colloquial intercourse. The emotional element can be strongly enforced by emphatic
intonation, which is an indispensable component of emotional utterance. But what is
important to observe is that the structure itself, independent of the actual lexical
presentation, is intended to carry some emotional charge.
Emotional syntactical, structures typical of the spoken variety of language are
sometimes very effectively used by men-of-letters to depict the emotional state of
mind of tha characters; they.may even be used, in particular-cases, in the narrative of
the author. But even when used in the dialogue of novels and stories these emotional
constructions, being deprived of their accompaniment—intonation—assume a greater
significance and become stylistically marked. Here the emotional structures stand out
more conspicuously, because they are thrown into prominence not by the intonation
pattern but by the syntactical pattern.
Consequently, it will be found necessary to classify some of the most typical
structures of these kinds, in spite of the lurking danger of confusing idiomatic phrases
(set expressions, phraseological units) with abstract patterns.
a) One of the most typical patterns is a simple statement followed by the pronoun
that+noun (pronoun)+verb to be (in the appropriate form), for example:
"June had answered in her imperious brisk way, like the little embodiment of will that
she was." (Galsworthy)
"And Felix thought: 'She just wants to talk to me about Derek, Dog in the manger that
I am.'"
b) Another pattern is a-question form with an exclamatory meaning expressing
amazement, indignation, excitement, enjoyment, etc., for example:
"Old ladies, Do I ever hate them?"
"He said in an awestruck voice: 'Boy, is that a piece of boat!'"
"And boy, could that *guy spend money Г
"And was Edward pleased!"
"'Look', she said. 'Isn't that your boss there, just coming in?' 'My God! Yes,' said Lute,
'Oh, and has he a nice package?' Til say. That's his wife with him, isn't it?'" (O'Hara)
"A witch she is. I know her back in the old country. Sure, and didn't she come over on
the same boat as myself?" (Betty Smith)
Note that this pattern is generally preceded by an exclamatory word, or an
interjection, or the conjunction and in the same function.
c) The third pattern is a morphological one (generally use of continuous forms), but
mentioned here because it is closely connected with syntactical structures, inversions,
repetitions and others, for example:
"You are not being silly, are you?" (Leslie Ford) "Now we're not going to have any
more of that, Mrs Euston."
(O'Hara)
d) The fourth pattern, also very common in colloquial English, is a construction where
a noun or pronoun subject followed by the verbs to have (noun+object) or to be
(noun+predicative) ends with the two components in inverted order, for example:
"She had a high colour, had Sally"
"He has a rather curious smile, has my friend"
"She is a great comfort to me, is that lass" (Cronin)
Sometimes though, the noun or pronoun subject is predicated by notional verbs. In
this case fodoisused in this trailing emphatic phrase, as in:
"He fair beats me, does James Brodie'1 (Cronin)
Negative forms are frequently used to indicate an emotional out-burst of the speaker,
for instance:
"You don't say!"
"I do say. I tell you I'm a student of this." (J. Steinbeck) "Don't be surprised if he
doesn't visit you one of these days." (=if he visits you)
The emphasis is weaker in the second example.
The basic patterns of emotional colloquial constructions enumerated above have a
particularly strong stylistic effect when they are used in the author's speech. The
explanation of this must be sought in the well-known dichotomy of the oral vs the
written variety of language.
As has been previpusly pointed out, the oral variety has, as one of its distinctive
features, an emotional character revealed mostly in the use of special emotive words,
intensifiers and additional semanticizing factors caused by intonation and voice
qualities. The. written variety is more intellectual; it is reasoned and, ideally, is non-
emotional. So when such constructions have travelled from their homeland—dialogue
— into the author's domain — monologue—, they assume the quality of an SD. Some
of the examples given above illustrate this with sufficient clarity.
Among other cases of the particular use of colloquial constructions are 1) ellipsis, 2)
break-in-the-narrative, 3) question-in-the-narrative, and 4) represented speech.
Ellipsis
Ellipsis is a typical phenomenon in conversation, arising out of the situation. We
mentioned this .peculiar feature of the spoken language when we characterized its
essential qualities and properties.
But this typical feature of the spoken language assumes a new quality when used in
the written language. It becomes a stylistic device
inasmuch as it supplies suprasegmental information. An elliptical sentence in direct
intercourse is not a stylistic device. It is simply a norm of the spoken language.
Let ug take a few examples.
"So Justice Oberwaltzer — solemnly and didactically from his high seat to the jury."
(Dreiser)
One feels very acutely the absence of the predicate in this sentence. Why was it
omitted? Did the author pursue any special purpose in leaving out a prirrtary member
of the sentence? Or is it just due to carelessness? The answer is obvious: it is a
deliberate device. This particular model of sentence suggests the author's personal
state of mind, viz. his indignation at the shameless speech of the Justice. It is a
common fact that any excited state of mind will manifest itself in some kind of
violation of the recognized literary sentence structure.
Ellipsis, when used as a stylistic device, always imitates the common features of
colloquial language, where the situation predetermines not thje..QmissipЈ...of^ but
their absence. It would perhaps be adequate io call sentences lacfang certain
members4 "incomplete-sentences", leaving the term ellipsis to specify structures
where we recognize a digression from the traditional literary sentence structure.
Thus the sentences 'See you to-morrow/, 'Had a good time?', 'Won't
are typical'^oF jhe jcollo^^ ^^ structures in the spoken
language and to call them elliptical, means to judge every sentence structure
according to the structural models of the written language. Likewise, such sentences
as the following can hardly be called elliptical.
"There's somebody wants to speak to you." "There was no -breeze came through the
open window." *• * ' . . ; K (Hemingway) "There's many a man in this
Borough would be glad to have the blood that runs in my veins." (Cronin)
The relative pronouns who, which, who after 'somebody', 'breeze', 'a man in this
Borough' could not be regarded as "omitted" — this is the norm of colloquial
language, though now not in frequent use except, perhaps, with the there (s (яге)
constructions as above. This is due, perhaps, to the standardizing power of the literary
language. O. Jespersen, in his analysis of such structurea, writes:
"If we speak here of 'omission' or 'subaudition' or 'ellipsis'* the reader is apt to get the
false impression that the fuller expression is the better one as being complete, and that
the shorter expression is to some extent faulty or defective, or something that has
come into existence in recent times out of slovenliness. This is wrong: the
constructions are very old in the language and have not come into existence through
the dropping of a. previously necessary relative pronoun."
, Here are some examples quoted by Jespetsen:
'7 bring him news will raise his drooping spirits."
"...or like the snow falls in the river."
"...when at her door arose a clatter might awake the dead."
However, when the reader encounters such structures in literary texts, even though
they aim at representing the lively norms of the spoken, language, he is apt to regard
them as bearing some definite stylistic function. This is due to a psychological effect
produced by the relative rarity of the construction, on the one hand, and the non-
expectancy of any strikingly colloquial expression in literary narrative.
It must be repeated here that the most characteristic feature of the written variety of
language is amplification, which by. its very nature is opposite to ellipsis.
Amplification generally demands expansion of the ideas with as full and as exact
relations between the parts of the utterance as possible. Ellipsis, on the contrary, being
the property of colloquial language, does not express what can easily be supplied by
the situation. This is perhaps the reason that elliptical sentences are rarely used as
stylistic devices. Sometimes the omission of a link-verb adds emotional colouring and
makes the sentence sound more emphatic, as in these lines from Byron:
"Thrice happy he who, after survey
of the good company, can win a corner."
"Nothing so difficult as a beginning."
"Denotes how soft the chin which bears his touch."
It is wrong to suppose that the omission of the link-verbs in these sentences is due to
the requirements of the rhythm.
Break-in-the-Narrative (Appsiopesis)
Aposiopesis is a device which dictionaries define as "A stopping short for rhetorical
effect." This is true. But this definition is too general to' disclose the stylistic functions
of the device.
In the spoken variety of the language, a break in the narrative is usually caused by
unwillingness to proceed; or by the supposition that what remains to be said can be
understood by the implication embodied in what has been said; or by uncertajnty as to
what should be said.
In the written variety, a break in the narrative is always a stylistic device used for
some stylistic effect. It is difficult, however, to draw a hard and fast distinction
between break-in-the-narrative as a typical feature of lively colloquial language and
as a specific stylistic device. The only criterion which may serve as a guide is that in
conversation the implication can be conveyed by an adequate gesture. In writing it is
the context, which suggests the adequate intonation, that is the only key to decoding
the aposiopesis.
In the following example the implication of the aposiopesis is a warning
"If you continue your intemperate way of living, in six months' time ..."
In the sentence:
"You just come home or I'll ..."
the implication is a threat. The second example shows that without a context the
implication can only be vague. But when one knows that the words were said by an
angry father to his son over the telephone the implication becomes apparent.
Aposiopesis is a stylistic syntactical device to convey to the reader a very strong
upsurge of emotions. The idea of this stylistic device is that the speaker cannot
proceed, his feelings depriving him of the ability to express himself in terms of
language. Thus in Don Juan's address to Julia, who is left behind:
"And oh! if e'er I should forget, / swear— ;i But that's impossible, and cannot be."
(Byron)
Break-in-the-narrative has a strong degree of predictability, which is ensured by the
structure of the sentence. As a stylistic device it is used in complex sentences, in
particular in conditional sentences, the //-clause being given in full and the second
part only implied.
However, aposiopesis may be noted in different syntactical structures.
Thus, one of Shelley's poems is entitled "To—", which is an aposiopesis of a different
character, inasmuch as the implication here is so vague that it can be likened to a
secret code. Indeed, no one except those in the know would be able to find out to
whom the poem was addressed.
Sometimes a break in the narrative is caused by euphemistic considerations—
unwillingness to name a thing on the ground of its being offensive to the ear, for
example:
"Then, Mamma, i hardly like to let the words cross my lips, but they have wicked,
wicked attractions out there—like dancing girls that—that charm snakes and dance
without—Miss Moir with downcast eyes, broke off significantly and blushed, whilst
the down on her upper lip quivered modestly." (Cronin)
Break-in-the-narrative is a device which, on the one hand, offers a number of variants
in^deciphering the implication and, on the other, is highly predictable. Thevproblem
of implication is, as it were, a crucial one in stylistics. What is implied sometimes
outweighs what is expressed. In other stylistic devices the degree of implication is not
so high as in break-in-the-narrative. A sudden 'break in the narrative will inevitably
focus the attention on what is left unsaid. Therefore the interrelation between what is
given and what is new becomes more significant, inasmuch as the given is what is
said and the new—what is left unsaid. There is a phrase in colloquial English which
has become very familiar: "Good intentions but—"
The implication here is that nothing has come of what it was planned to accomplis
Aposiopesis is a stylistic device in which the role of the intonation implied cannot be
over-estimated. The pause after the break is generally charged with meaning and it is
the intonation only that will decode the communicative significance of the utterance.
Question-in-the-Narrative
Questions, being both structurally and semantically one of the types of sentences, are
asked by one person and e'xpected to be answered by another. This is the main, and
the most characteristic property of the question, i. e. it exists as a syntactical unit of
language to bear this particular function in communication. Essentially, questions
belong to the spoken language and presuppose the presence of an interlocutor, that is,
they are commonly encountered in dialogue. The questioner is presumed not to know
the answer.
Q uestion- in- the- narrative changes the real nature of a question and turns it into a
stylistic device. A question in the narrative is asked and answered by one and the
same person, usually the author.
It becomes akin to a parenthetical statement with strong emotional implications. Here
are some cases of quest ion-in-tbe-narrative taken from Byron's "Don Juan":
1) 'Tor what is left the poet here?
For Greeks a blush—for Greece a tear."
2) "And starting, she awoke, and what to view?
Oh, Powers of Heaven. What dark eye meets she there? 'Tis—'tis her father's—fix'd
upon the pair."
As is seen from these examples, the questions asked, unlike rhetorical questions (see
p. 244), do not contain statements. But being answered by one who knows the answer,
they assume a semi-exclamatory nature, as in 'what to view?'
Sometimes quest ion-in-the-narrative gives the impression of an intimate talk between
the writer and the reader. For example:
"Scrooge knew he was dead! Of course he did. How could it be, otherwise? Scrooge
and he were partners for I don't know how many years." (Dickens)
Quest ion-in-the-narrative is very often used in oratory. This is explained by one of
the leading features of oratorical style— to induce the desired reaction to the content
of the speech. Questions here chain the attention of the listeners to the matter the
orator is dealing with and prevent it from wandering. They also give the listeners time
to absorb what has been said, and prepare for the next point.
Quest ion-in-the-narrative may also remain unanswered, as in:
"How long must it go on? How long must we suffer? Where is the end? What is the
end?" (Norris)
These sentences show a gradual transition to rhetorical questions. There are only hints
of the possible answers. Indeed, the first and the
second questions suggest that the existing state of affairs should be put an end to and
that we should not suffer any longer. The third and the fourth questions suggest that
the orator himself could not find a solution ta the problem.
"The specific nature of interrogative sentences," writes P. S. Po pov, "which are
transitional stages from what we know to what we do not yet know, is reflected in the
interconnection between the question and the answer. The interrogative sentence is
connected with the answer-sentence far more closely than the inference is connected
with two interrelated pronouncements, because each of the two pronouncements has
its own significance; whereas the significance of the interrogative sentence is only in
the process of seeking the answer." l
This very interesting statement concerning the psychological nature of the question,
however, does not take into consideration the stimulating aspect of the question.
When a question begins to fulfil a function not directly arising from its linguistic and
psychological nature, it may have a certain volume of emotional chargerQuestion-in-
the-narrative is a case of this kind. Here its function deviates slightly from its general
signification.
This deviation (being in fact a modification of the general function of interrogative
sentences) is much more clearly apparent in rhetorical questions.
Represented Speech
There are three ways of reproducing actual speech: a) repetition of the exact utterance
as it was spoken (direct speech), b) conversion of the exact utterance into the
relater'smode of expression (indirect s p*e e с h), arid c) representation of the actual
utterance by a second person, usually the author, as if it had been spoken; whereas it
has not really been spoken but is only represented in the author's words (represented
speech).
There is also a device which conveys to the reader the unuttered or inner speech of the
character, thus presenting his thoughts and feelings. This device is also termed
represented speech. To distinguish between the two varieties of represented speech we
call the representation of the actual utterance through the author's language uttered r e
p r e -sen-ted speech, and the representation of the thoughts and feelings of the
character—unuttered or'inner represented speech.
The term direct speech came to be used in the belles-lettres style in order to
distinguish the words of the character from the author's words. Actually, direct speech
is a quotation. Therefore it is always introduced by a verb like say, utter, declare,
reply, exclaim, shout, cry, yell, gasp, babble, chuckle, murmur, sigh, call, beg,
implore, comfort,
assure, protest, object, command, admit, and others. All these words help ot indicate
the intonation with which the sentence was actually uttered. Direct speech is always
marked by -inverted commas, as any quotation is. Here is an example:
"You want your money back, I suppose," said George with a
sneer.
"Of course I do—I always did, didn't I?" says Dobbin.
(Thackeray)
The most important feature of the spoken language—intonation— is indicated by
different means. In the example above we have 1) graphical means: the dash after 'I
do', 2) lexical: the word 'sneer', and 3) grammatical: a) morphological—different
tenses of the verb to say ('said' and 'says'), b) syntactical: the disjunctive question
—'didn't I?'.
Direct speech is sometimes used -in the publicistic style of language as a quotation.
The introductory words in this case are usually the following: as... has it, according
to..., and the like.
In the belles-lettres style direct speech is used to depict a character
through his speech.
In the emotive prose of the belles-lettres style where the predominant form of
utterance is narrative, direct speech is inserted to more fully depict the characters of
the novel. In the other variety of the belles-lettres prose style, i.e. in plays, the
predominant form of utterance is dialogue. In spite of the various graphical and
lexical ways of indicating the proper intonation of a given utterance, the subtleties of
the intonation design required by the situation cannot be accurately conveyed. The
richness of the human voice can only be suggested.
Direct speech can be viewed as a stylistic device only in its setting .s in the midst of
the author's narrative or in contrast to all forms of indirect speech. Even when, an
author addresses the reader, we cannot classify the utterance as direct speech. Direct
speech is only the speech of a character in a piece of emotive prose.
We have indirect speech when the actual words of a character, as it were, pass
through the author's mouth in the course of his narrative and in this process undergo
certain changes. The intonation of indirect speech is even and does not differ from the
rest of the author's narrative. The graphical substitutes for the intonation give way to
lexical units which describe the intonation pattern. Sometimes indirect speech takes
the form of a precis in which only the main points of the actual utterance are given.
Thus, for instance, in the following passage:
"Marshal asked the crowd to disperse and urged responsible diggers to prevent any
disturbance which would prolong the tragic force of the rush for which the publication
of inaccurate information was chiefly responsible." (Katherine Prichard) In grammars
there are rules according to which direct speech can be converted into indirect. These
rules are logical in- character, they merely indicate what changes must be introduced
into the utterance due to change in the situation, Thus the sentence:
"Your mother wants you to go upstairs immediately" corresponds to "Tell him to
come upstairs immediately."
When direct speech is converted into indirect, the author not infrequently interprets in
his own way the manner in which the direct speech was uttered, thus very often
changing the emotional colouring of the whole. Hence, indirect speech may fail
entirely to reproduce the actual emotional colouring of the direct speech and may
distort it unrecognizably. A change of meaning is inevitable when direct speech is
turned into indirect or vice versa, inasmuch as any modification of form calls forth a
slight difference in meaning.
It is probably due to this fact that in order to convey more adequately the actual
utterances of characters in emotive prose, a new way to represent direct speech came
into being—r epresented speech.
Represented speech is that form of utterance which conveys the actual words of the
speaker through the mouth of the writer but retains the peculiarities of the speaker's
mode of expression.
Represented speech exists in two varieties: 1) uttered represented speech and 2)
unuttered or inner represented speech.

a) Uttered Represented Speech


Uttered represented speech demands that the tense should be switched from present to
past and that the personal pronouns should be changed from 1st and 2nd person to 3rd
person as in indirect speech, but the syntactical structure of the utterance does not
change. For example:
"Could he bring a reference from where he now was? He could."
(Dreiser)
An interesting example of three Ways of representing actual speech is to be seen in a
conversation between Old Jolyon and June in Galsworthy's "Man pf Property."^
"Old Jolyon was on the alert at once. Wasn't the "man of property" going to live in his
new house, then? He never alluded to Soames now but under this title.
'No1—June said—'he^was not; she knew that he was not!'
How did she know?
She could not tell him, but she knew. She knew nearly for certain. It was most
unlikely; circumstances had changed!"
The first sentence is the author's speech. In the second sentence 'Wasn't the "man..."'
there is uttered represented speech: the actual speech must have been 'Isn't the...'. This
sentence is followed by one from the author: 'He never...'. Then again comes uttered
represented speech marked off in inverted commas, which is not usual. The direct
speech 'No—', the introductory 'June said' and the following inverted commas make
the sentence half direct half uttered represented speech. The next sentence 'How did
she know?' and the following one are clear-cut models of uttered represented speech:
all the peculiarities of direct speech are preserved,
i. e. the repetition of 'she knew', the colloquial 'nearly for certain', the absence of any
connective between the last two sentences and, finally, the mafk of exclamation at the
end of the passage. And yet the tenses and pronouns here show that the actual
utterance passes through the author's
mouth.
Two more examples will suffice to illustrate the use of uttered represented speech.
"A maid came in now with a blue gown very thick and soft. Could she do anything
'for Miss Freeland? No, thanks, she could not, only, did she know where Mr.
Freeland's room was?"'
(Galsworthy)
The shift from the author's speech to the uttered represented speech of the maid is
marked only by the change^ jg 1Ь^.^уЖдШса1 pattern erf the sentences from
declarative to ifitef fogatiуерйНГТОТГТКе' narr atfve pattern to the conversational.
Sometimes the shift is almost imperceptible—the author's narrative sliding over into
the character's utterance without any formal indications of the switch-over, as in the
following passage:
"She had -known him for a full year when, in London for a while and as usual alone,
she received a note from him to say that he had to come up to town for a night and
couldn't they dine together and go to some place' to dance. She thought it very sweet
of him to take pity on her solitariness and accepted with pleasure, They spent a
delightful evening." (Maugham)
This manner of inserting uttered represented speech within the author's narrative is
not common. It is peculiar to the style of a number of modern English and American
writers. The more usual structural model is one where there is either an indication of
the shift by some introductory word (smiled, said, asked, etc.) or by a formal break
like a full stop at the end of the sentence, as in:
"In consequence he Was quick to suggest a walk... Didn't Clyde want to go?"
(Dreiser)
Uttered represented speech has a long history. As far back as the 18th century it was
already widely used by men-of-letters, evidently because it was a means by which
what was considered vulgar might be excluded from literature, i.e. expletives, vivid
colloquial words, expressions and syntactical structures typical of the lively colloquial
speech of the period. Indeed, when direct speech is represented by the writer, he can
change the actual utterance into any mode of expression he considers appropriate.
In Fielding's "History of Tom Jones the Foundling" we find various ways of
introducing uttered represented speech. Here are some interesting examples:
"When dinner was over, and the servants departed, Mr. Al-worthy began to harangue.
He set forth, in a long speech, the
many iniquities of which Jones had been guilty, particularly those which this day had
brought to light; and concluded by telling him, 'That unless he could clear himself of
the charge, he was resolved to banish him from his sight for ever."'
In this passage there is practically no represented speech, inasmuch as the words
marked off by inverted commas are indirect-speech, i.e. the author's speech with no
elements of the character's speech, and the only signs'of the change in the form of the
utterance are the inverted commas and the capital letter of 'That'. The following
paragraph is built on the same pattern.
"Hislieart was, besides, almost broken already; and his spirits were so sunk, that he
could say nothing for himself but acknowledge the whole, and, like a criminal in
despair, threw himself upon mercy; concluding, 'that though he must own himself
guilty of many follies and inadvertencies, he hoped he had done nothing to deserve
what would be to him the greatest punishment in the world.'"
Here again the introductory 'concluding' does not bring forth direct speech but is a
natural continuation of the author's narrative. The only indication of the change are
the inverted commas.
Mr. Alworthy's answer is also built on the same pattern, the only modification being
the direct speech at the end.
"—Alworthy answered, "That he had forgiven him too often already, in compassion
to his youth, and in hopes of his amendment: that he now found he was an abandoned
reprobate, and such as it would be criminal in any one to support and encourage,"
'Nay,' said Mr. Alworthy to him, 'your audacious attempt to steal away the young
lady, calls upon me to justify my own character in punishing you.—'"
Then follows^a long speech by Mr. Alworthy not differing from indirect speech (the
author's speech) either in structural design or in the choice of words. A critical
analysis will show that the direct speech of the characters in the novel must have
undergone considerable polishing up in order to force it to conform to the literary
norms of the period. Colloquial speech, emotional, inconsistent and spontaneous, with
its vivid intonation suggested by elliptical sentences, breaks in the narrative,
fragmenta-riness and lack of connectives, was banned from literary usage and re-
placed by the passionless substitute of indirect speech.
Almost in any work of 18th century literary art one will find that the spoken language
is adapted to conform to the norms of the written language of the period. It was only
at the beginning of the 19th century that the elements of colloquial English, began to
elbow their way into the sacred precincts of the English literary language. The more
the process became apparent, the more the conditions that this created became fa-
vourable for the introduction of uttered represented speech as a literary device.
In the modern belles-lettres prose style, the speech of the characters is modelled on
natural colloquial patterns. The device of uttered represented speech enables the
writer to reshape the utterance according to the normal polite literary usage.
Nowadays, this device is used not only in the belles-lettres style. It is also efficiently
used in newspaper style. Here is an example:
"Mr. Silverman, his Parliamentary language scarcely concealing his bitter
disappointment, accused the government of breaking its pledge and of violating
constitutional proprieties.
Was the government basing its policy not on the considered judgement of the House
of Commons, but on the considered judgement of the House of Lords?
Would it not be a grave breach of constitutional duty, not to give the House a
reasonable opportunity of exercising its rights under the Parliament Act?"
'Wait for the terms of the Bill,' was Eden's reply."
s Uttered represented speech in newspaper communications is somewhat different
from that in the belles-lettres style. In the former, it is generally used to quote the
words of speakers in Parliament or at public meetings.

b) Unuttered or Inner Represented Speech


As has often been pointed out, language has two functions: the communicative and
the expressive. The communicative function serves to convey one's thoughts,
volitions, emotions and orders to the mind of a second person. The expressive
function serves to shape one's thoughts and emotions into language forms. This
second function is believed to be the only way of materializing thoughts and
emotions. Without language forms thought is not yet thought but only something
being shaped as thought.
The thoughts and feelings going on in one's miad and reflecting some previous
experience are called inner speech.
"4 Inasmuch as inner speech has no communicative function, it is very fragmentary,-
incoherent, isolated, and consists of separate units which only hint at the content of
the utterance but do not word it explicitly.
Inner speech is a psychological phenomenon. But when it is wrought into full
utterance, it ceases to be inner speech, acquires a communicative function and
becomes a phenomenon of language. The expressive function of language is
suppressed by its communicative function, and the reader is presented with a
complete language unit capable of carrying information. This device is called inner
represented speech.
However, the language forms of inner represented speech bear a resemblance to the
psychological phenomenon of inner speech. Inner represented speech retains the most
characteristic features of inner speech. It is also fragmentary, but only to an extent
which will not hinder the understanding of the communication.
Inner represented speech, unlike uttered represented speech, expresses feelings and
thoughts of the character which were not material
ized in spoken or written language by the character. That is why it abounds in
exclamatory words and phrases, elliptical constructions, breaks, and other means of
conveying feelings and psychological states. When a person is alone with his thoughts
and feelings, he can give vent to those strong emotions.which he usually keeps
hidden. Here is an example from Galsworthy's "Man of Property":
"His nervousness about this disclosure irritated him profoundly; she had no business
to make him feel like that—a wife and a husband being one person. She had not
looked at him once since they sat down, and he wondered what on earth she had been
thinking about all the time. It was hard, when a man worked hard as he did, making
money for her—yes and with an ache in his heart— that she should sit there, looking
—looking as if she saw the walls of the room closing in. It was enough to make a man
get up and leave the table."
The inner speech of Soames Forsyte is here introduced by two words describing his
state of mind—irritated' and 'wondered'. The colloquial aspect of the language in
which Soames's thoughts and feelings are expressed is obvious. He uses colloquial
collocations: 'she had no business', 'what on earth', 'like that' and colloquial
constructions: 'yes and with...' 'looking—looking as if ...', and the words used are
common colloquial.
Unutteredor inner represented speech follows the same morphological pattern as
uttered represented speech, byiJhe^XQlactical pattern shows variations which can be
accounted forfiy the fact fHatItis'ffiner speech, not uttered speech. ~THe tense forms
are shifted to the past; the third person personal pronouns replace the first and second.
The interrogative word-order is maintained as in direct speech. The fragmentary
character of the utterance manifests itself in unfinished sentences, exclamations and in
one-member sentences.
Here is another example:
"An idea had occurred to Soames. His cousin Jolyon was Irene's trustee, the first step
would be to go down and see him at Robin Hill. Robin Hill! The odd—the very odd
feeling those words brought back. Robin Hill—the house Bosinney had built for him
and Irene—the house they had never lived in—the fatal house! And Jolyon lived there
.now! H'm!" (Galsworthy)
This device is undoubtedly an excellent one to depict a character. It gives the writer
an opportunity to show the inner springs which guide his character's actions and
utterances. Being a combination of the au-.thor's speech and that of the character,
inner represented speech, on the one hand, fully discloses the feelings and thoughts of
the character, his world outlook, and, on the other hand, through efficient and
sometimes hardly perceptible interpolations by the author himself, makes the desired
impact on the reader.
In English and American literature this device has gained vogue in the works of the
writers of the last two centuries — Jane Austen, Thackeray, Dickens, Charlotte and
Ernily Bronte, Jack London, Gals-242
worthy, Dreiser, Somerset Maugham and others. Every writer has his own way of
using represented speech. Careful linguistic analysis of individual peculiarities in
using it will show its wide range of function and will expand the hitherto limited
notions of its use.
Inner represented speech, unlike uttered represented speech, is usually introduced by
verbs of mental perception, as think, meditate, feel, occur (an idea occurred to...),
wonder, ask, tell oneself, understand and the like. For example:
"Over and over he was asking himself: would she receive him? would she recognize
him? what should he say to her?"
"Why weren't things going well between them? he wondered."
Very frequently, however, inner represented speech thrusts itself into the narrative of
the author without any introductory words and the shift from the author's speech to
inner represented speech is more or less imperceptible. Sometimes the one glidesjnto
the other, sometimes there is a sudden clear-cut change in the mode of expression.
Here are examples:
"Butler was sorry that he had called his youngest a baggage; but these children—God
bless his soul—were a great annoyance. Why, in the name of all the saints, wasn't this
house good enough for them?" (Dreiser)
The only indication of the transfer from the author's speech to inner represented
speech is the semicolon which suggests a longish pause. The emotional tension of the
inner represented speech is enhanced by the emphatic these (in 'these children'), by
the exclamatory sentences 'God bless his soul' and 'in the name of all the saints'. This
emotional charge gives an additional shade of meaning to the 'was sorry' in the au-
thor's statement, viz. Butler was sorry, but he was also trying to justify himself for
calling his daughter names.
And here is an example of a practically imperceptible shift:
"Then, too, in old Jolyon's mind was always the secret ache that the son of James—of
James, whom he had always thought such a poor thing, should be pursuing the paths
of success, while his own son—!" (Galsworthy)
In this passage there are hardly any signs of J;he shift except, perhaps, the repetition
of the words 'of James'. Then comes what is half the author's narrative, half the
thoughts of the character, the inner speech coming to the surface in 'poor thing' (a
colloquialism) and the sudden break after 'his own son' and the mark of exclamation.
Inner represented speech remains the monopoly of the belles-lettres .style, and
especially of emotive prose, a variety of it. There is hardly any likelihood of this
device being used in other styles, due to its specific function, which is to penetrate
into the inner life of the personages of an imaginary world, which is the exclusive
domain of belles-lettres.

F. STYLISTIC USE OF STRUCTURAL MEANING


On analogy with transference of lexical meaning,, in which are used other than in
their primary logical sense, syntactical structures may also be used in meanings other
than their primary ones. Every syntactical structure hasjts definite function, which is
sometimes called its sir uc tar а Ј~Т1^5Г7П^ used in some"other fuhc-""" tion it may
be said to assume a new meaning which is similar to lexical transferred meaning.
Among syntactical stylistic devices there are two in which this trans-i ference of
structural meaning is to be seen. They are rhetorical questions! and litotes.
Rhetorical Questions
The rhetorical q и e^s t i о n Is a special syntactical stylistic j device the essence of
which consists in reshaping the grammatical mean-j ing of the interrogative sentence.
In other words, the question is no" longer a question but a statement expressed in the
form of an interrogative sentence. Thus there is an interplay of two structural
meanings: 1) that of the question and 2) that of the statement (either affirmative or
negative). Both are materialized simultaneously. For example:
"Are these the remedies for a starving and desperate populace?" "Is there not blood
enough upon your penal code, that jnore
must be poured forth to ascend to Heaven and testify against
you?" (Byron)
One can agree with Prof. Popov who states: "...the rhetorical question is equal to a
categorical pronouncement plus an exclamation." x Indeed, if we compare a
pronouncement expressed as a statement with the same pronouncement expressed as a
rhetorical question by means of transformational analysis, we wilFfind ourselves
compelled to assert that the interrogative form makes the pronouncement still more
categorical, in that it excludes any interpretation beyond that contained in the
rhetorical question.
From the examples given above, we can see that rhetorical questions are generally
structurally embodied in complex sentences with the subordinate clause containing
the pronouncement. Here is another example:
"...Shall the sons-^of Chimary I
Who never forgive the fault of a friend .1
Bid an enemy live?..." (Byron) .]
^Without the attributive clause the rhetorical question would lose-| its specific quality
and might be regarded as an ordinary question. Thei subordinate clause, as it were,
signalizes the rhetorical question. The meaning of the above utterance can hardly fail
to be understood: i. e. The sons of Chimary will never bid an enemy live.
There is another structural pattern of rhetorical questions, which is based on negation.
In this case the question may be a simple sentence, as in:
"Did not the Italian Mosico Cazzani
Sing at my heart six months at least in vain?" (Byron)
"Have I not had to wrestle with my lot?
Have I. not suffered things to be forgiven?" (Byron)
Negative-interrogative sentences generally have a peculiar nature. There is always an
additional shade of meaning implied in them: sometimes doubt, sometimes assertion,
sometimes suggestion. In other words, they are full of emotive meaning and modality.
We have already stated that rhetorical questions may be looked upon as a transference
of grammatical meaning. But just as in the case of the transference of lexical
meaning, the stylistic effect of the transference of grammatical meaning can only be
achieved if there is a simultaneous realization of the two meanings: direct and
transferred. So it is with rhetorical questions. Both the question-meaning and the
statement-meaning are materialized with an emotional charge, the weight of which
can be judged by the intonation of the speaker.
The intonation of rhetorical questions, according to the most recent investigations,
differs materially from the intonation of ordinary questions. This is also an additional
indirect proof of the double nature of this stylistic device. In the question-sentence
"Is the poor privilege to turn the key Upon the captive, freedom?" (Byron)
instead of a categorical pronouncement one can detect irony.
A more detailed analysis of the semantic aspect of different question-sentences leads
to the conclusion that these structural models have various functions. Not only
ordinary questions, not only categorical pronouncements are expressed in question
form. In fact there are various nuances of emotive meaning embodied in question-
sentences. We have already given an example of one of these meanings, viz. irony. In
Shakespeare's
"Who is here so vile that will not love his country?" there is a meaning of challenge
openly and unequivocally declared. It is impossible to regard it as a rhetorical
question making a categorical pronouncement. In the rhetorical question from Byron's
maiden speech given above ('Is there not blood... ) there is a clear implication of scorn
and contempt for Parliament and the laws it passes.
So rhetorical questions may also be defined as utterances in the form of questions
which pronounce judgements and also express various kinds of modal shades of
meaning, as doubt, challenge, scorn, irony and so on.
It has been stated elsewhere that questions are more emotional than statements. When
a question is repeated, as in these lines from Poe's "The Raven":
"—Is there—is there balm in Gilead?! Tell me-— ' tell me—I implore!—"
the degree of emotiveness increases and the particular shade of meaning (in this case,
despair) becomes more apparent.
The rhetorical question re-enforces this essential quality of interrogative sentences
and uses it to convey a stronger shade of emotive meaning. Rhetorical questions, due
to their power of expressing a variety of modal shades of meaning, are most often
used in publicistic style and particularly in oratory, where the rousing of emotions is
the effect generally aimed at.
Litotes
Litotes is a stylistic device consisting of a peculiar use of negative constructions. The
negation plus noun or adjective serves to establish a positive feature in a person or
thing. This positive feature, however, is somewhat diminished in quality as compared
with a synonymous expression making a straightforward assertion of the positive
feature. Let us compare the following two pairs of sentences:
1. It's not a bod thing.—It's a good thing.
2. He is no coward.—He is a brave man.
Not bad is not equal to good although the two constructions are synonymous. The
same can be said about the second pair, no coward and a brave man. In both cases the
negative construction is weaker than ,the affirmative one. Still we cannot say that the
two negative constructions produce a lesser effect than the corresponding affirmative
ones. Moreover, it should be noted that the negative constructions here have a
stronger impact on the reader than the affirmative ones. The latter have no additional
connotation; the former have. That is why such constructions are regarded as stylistic
devices. Litotes is a deliberate understatement used to produce a stylistic effect. It is
not a pure negation, but a negation that includes affirmation. Therefore here, as in the
case of rhetorical questions, we may speak of transference of meaning, i. e. a device
with the help of which twp meanings are materialized simultaneously: the direct (ne-
gative) and transferred (affirmative).
So the negation in litotes must not be regarded as a mere denial of the quality
mentioned. The structural aspect of the negative combination backs up the semantic
aspect: the negatives no and not are more emphatically pronounced than in ordinary
negative sentences, thus bringing'to mind the corresponding antonym.
The stylistic effeciT of litotes depends mainly on intonation. If we compare two
intonation patterns, one which suggests a mere denial (It is not bad as a contrary to It
is-bad) with the other which suggests the assertion of a positive quality of the object
(It is not bad=it is good), the difference will become apparent. The degree to which
litotes carries the positive quality in itself can be estimated by analysing the semantic
structure of the word which is negated.
Let us examine the following sentences in which litotes is used:
1. "Whatever defects the tale possessed—and they were not a few—it had, as
delivered by her, the one merit of seeming like truth."
246
2. "He was not without taste..."
3. "It troubled him not a little..:'
4. "He found that this was no easy task."
5. "He was no gentle lamb, and the part of second fiddle would never do for the high-
pitched dominance of his nature." (Jack London)
6. "She was wearing a fur coat... Carr, the enthusiastic appreciator of smart women
and as good a judge of dress as any man to be met in a Pall Mall club, saw that she
was no country cousin. She had style, or 'devil', as he preferred to call it."
Even a superfluous analysis of the litotes in the above sentences clearly shows that the
negation does not merely indicate the absence of the quality mentioned but suggests
the presence of the opposite quality. Charles Bally, a well-known Swiss linguist,
states that negative sentences are used with the purpose of "refusing to affirm".
In sentences 5 and 6 where it is explained by the context, litotes reveals its true
function. The idea of 'no gentle lamb' is further strengthened by the 'high-pitched
dominance of his nature'; the function and meaning of 'no country cousin' is made
clear by 'as good a fudge of dress...', 'she had style...'. Thus, like other stylistic
devices, litotes displays a simultaneous materialization of two meanings: one
negative, the other affirmative. This interplay of two grammatical meanings is keenly
felt, so much so indeed, that the affirmation suppresses the negation, the latter . being
only the form in which the real pronouncement is moulded. According to the science
of logic, negation as a category can hardly express a pronouncement. Only an
assertion can do so. That is why we may say that any negation only suggests an
assertion. Litotes is a means by which this natural logical and linguistic property of
negation can be strengthened. The two senses of the litotic expression, negative and
positive, serve a definite stylistic purpose.
A variant of litotes is a construction with two negations, as in not unlike, not
unpromising, not displeased and the like. Here, according to general logical and
mathematical principles, two negatives make a positive. Thus in the sentence
—"Soames, with his lips and his squared chin was not unlike a bull dog"
(Galsworthy), the litotes may be interpreted as somewhat resembling. In spite of the
fact that such constructions make the assertion more logically apparent, they lack
precision. They may truly be regarded as deliberate understatements, whereas the
pattern structures of litotes, i. e. those that have only one negative are much more
categorical in stating the positive quality* of a person or thing.
An interesting jest at the expense'of an English statesman who overused the device of
double negation was published in the Spectator, May 23, 1958. Here it is:
"Anyway, as the pre-Whitsun dog-days- barked themselves into silence, a good deal
of pleasure could be obtained by a connoisseur who knew where to seek it. On
Monday, for instance, from Mr. Selwyn Lloyd. His trick of seizing upon a phrase that
has struck him (erroneously, as a rule) as a happy one, and doggedly
sticking to it thereafter is one typical of a speaker who lacks all confidence. On
Monday it was 'not unpromising'; three times he declared that various aspects of the
Summit preparations were 'not unpromising', and I was moved in the end to conclude
that Mr. Lloyd is a not unpoor Foreign Secretary, and that if he should not unshortly
leave that office the not unbetter it would be for all of us, not unhim included."
Litotes is used in different styles of speech, excluding those which may be called the
matter-of-fact styles, like official style and scientific prose. In poetry it is sometimes
used to suggest that language fails to adequately convey the poet's feelings and
therefore he uses negations to express the inexpressible. Shakespeare's Sonnet No.
130 is to some extent illustrative in this respect. Here all the hackneyed phrases used
by the poet to depict his beloved are negated with the purpose of showing the
superiority of the earthly qualities of "My mistress." The first line of this sonnet 'My
mistress' eyes are nothing like the sun' is a clear-cut litotes although the object to
which the eyes are compared is generally perceived as having only positive qualities.

PART VI FUNCTIONAL STYLES OF THE ENGLISH LANGUAGE


INTRODUCTORY REMARKS
We have already mentioned the problem of what is known as / и n c-tional styles (FS)
of language (see p. 32—35), but only to show that FSs should be distinguished from
varieties of language. The main difference, be it remembered, is that the written and
oral varieties of language are merely forms of communication which depend on the
situation in which the communication is maintained, i.e. on the presence or absence of
an interlocutor, whereas FSs are patterns of the written variety of language calculated
to secure the desired purport of the communication. Each functional style of the
literary'language makes use of language means the interrelation of which is peculiar
to the given FS. It is the coordination of language media and SDs which shapes the
distinctive features of each style, and not the separate language media or the SDs
themselves. Each FS, however, can be recognized by one or more leading, especially
conspicuous- features. For instance, the use of special terminology is a lexical
characteristic of the FS of scientific prose, and one by which it can easily be
recognized. The address "Dear sirs" will be a signal to refer the message to the FS of
official documents.
However, since any FS presents a system in which various features are interwoven in
a particular manner, one group of language means, a leading feature though it may be,
will not suffice to determine the FS.
Now we are in a position to give a more exact definition of a functional style than the
one given on p. 32—33.
An FS is a patterned variety of literary text characterized by the greater or lesser
typification of its constituents, supra-phrasal units (SPU), in which the choice and
arrangement of interdependent and interwoven language media are calculated to
secure the purport of the communication.
Each FS is a relatively stable system at the given stage in the development of the
literary language, but it changes, and sometimes considerably, from one period to
another. Therefore functional style of language is a historical category. There are
many instances to prove this. Thus, the FS of emotive prose actually began to
function as an independent style after the second half of the 16th century; the
newspaper style budded off from the publicistic style; the oratorical style has
undergone considerable fundamental changes, and so with other FSs,
The development of each style is predetermined by the changes in the norms of
standard English.
It is also greatly influenced by changing social conditions, the progress of science and
the development of cultural life in the country. For instance, the emotive elements of
language were abundantly used in scientific prose in the 18th century. This is
explained by the fact that scientists in many fields used the emotional language
instead of one more logically precise and convincing, because they lacked the
scientific data obtainable only by deep, prolonged research. With the development of
science and the accumulation of scientific data, emotive elements gave way to con-
vincing arguments and "stubborn" facts.
The English literary language has evolved a number of FSs easily distinguishable one
from another. They are not homogeneous and fall into several variants all having
some central point of resemblance, or better to say, all integrated by the invariant—
i.e. the abstract ideal system.
We shall now consider each of the FSs in its ,most characteristic features.

A. THE BELLES-LETTRES STYLE


We have already pointed out that the belles-lettres style is a generic term for three
substyles in which the main principles and the most general properties of the style are
materialized. These three sub-styles are: '
1. The language of poetry, or simply verse.
2. Emotive p г о s e, or the language of fiction.
3. Т'he language of the dr a ma.
Each of these substyles has certain common features, typical of the general belles-
lettres style, which make up the foundation of the style, by which the particular style
is made recognizable and can therefore be singted out. Each of them also enjoys some
individuality. This is revealed in definite features typical only of one or another
substyle. This correlation of the general and the particular in each variant of the
belles-lettres styie had manifested itself differently at different stages in its historical
development.
The common features of the,substyles may be summed up as follows. First of all
comes theVcommon function which may broadly be called "aesthetico-cognitive".
This is a double function which aims at the cognitive process, which secures the
gradual Enfolding of the idea to the reader and at the same time calls forth a feeling of
pleasure, a pleasure which is derived from the form in which the content is wrought.
The psychological element, pleasure, is not irrelevant when evaluating the effect of
the communication. x This pleasure is caused not only by admiration of the selected
language means and their peculiar arrangement but also (and this is perhaps the main
cause) by the fact that the reader is led
to form his own conclusions as to the purport of the author. Nothing gives more
pleasure and satisfaction than realizing that one has the ability to penetrate into the
hidden tissue of events, phenomena and human activity, and to perceive the relation
between various seemingly unconnected facts brought together by the creative mind
of the writer.
Since the belles-lettres style has a cognitive function as well as an aesthetic one, it
follows that it has something in common with scientific style, which will be discussed
in detail later, but which is here mentioned for the sake of comparison. The purpose of
science” as a branch of human activity is to disclose by research the inner substance
of things and phenomena of objective reality and find out the laws regulating them,
thus enabling man to predict, control and direct their further development in order to
improve the material and social life of mankind. The style of scientific prose is
therefore mainly characterized by an arrangement of language means which will bring
proofs to clinch a theory. Therefore we say that the main function of scientific prose is
proof. The selection of language means must therefore meet this principal
requirement.
The purpose of the belles-lettres style is not to prove but only to suggest a possible
interpretation of the phenomena of life by forcing the reader to see the viewpoint of
the writer. This is the cognitive function of the belles-lettres style.
From all this it follows, therefore, that the belles-lettres style must select a system of
language means which will secure the effect sought.
In showing the difference in the manner of thinking of the man-of letters and the man-
of-science, N. A. Dobrolubov writes:
"The man-of-letters... thinks concretely, never losing sight of particular phenomena
and images; the other (the man-of-science) strives to generalize, to merge all
particulars in one general formula." *
The belles-lettres style rests on certain indispensable linguistic features which are:
1. Genuine, not trite, imagery, achieved by purely linguistic devices.
2. The use of words in contextual and very often in more than one dictionary
meaning, or at least greatly influenced by the lexical environment.
3. A vocabulary which will reflect to a greater or lesser degree the author's personal
evaluation of things or phenomena.
4. A peculiar individual selection of vocabulary and syntax, a kind of lexical and
syntactical idiosyncrasy.
5. The introduction of the typical features of colloquial language to a full degree (in
plays) or a lesser one (in emotive prose) or a slight degree, if any (in poems).
The belles-lettres style is individual in essence. This is one of its most distinctive
properties. Individuality in selecting language means (including stylistic devices),
extremely apparent in poetic style, becomes gradually less in, let us say, publicistic
style, is hardly noticeable in the
style of scientific prose and is entirely lacking in newspapers and in official style. The
relation between the general and the particular assumes different forms in different
styles and in their variants. This relation is differently materialized even within one
and the same style. This is due to the strong imprint of personality on'any work of
poetic style. There may be a greater or lesser volume of imagery (but not an absence
of imagery); a greater or lesser number of words with contextual meaning (but not all
words without contextual meaning); a greater or lesser number of colloquial elements
(but not a complete absence of colloquial elements).
1. LANGUAGE OF POETRY
The first substyle we shall consider is v e r s e. Its first differentiating property is its
orderly form, which is based mainly on the rhythmic and phonetic arrangement of the
utterances. The rhythmic aspect calls forth syntactical and semantic peculiarities
which also fall into a more or less strict orderly arrangement. Both the syntactical and
semantic aspects I of the poetic substyle may be defined as compact, for they are held
in “i check by rhythmic patterns. Both syntax and semantics comply with fi the
restrictions imposed by the rhythmic pattern, and the result is brevity of expression,
epigram-like utterances, and fresh, unexpected imagery. Syntactically this brevity is
shown in elliptical and fragmentary sentences, in detached constructions, in inversion,
asyndeton and other syntactical peculiarities.
Rhythm and rhyme are immediately distinguishable properties of the poetic substyle
provided they are wrought into compositional patterns. They can be called the
external differentiating features of the substyle, typical only of this one variety of the
belles-lettres style. The various compositional forms of rhyme and rhythm are
generally studied under the terms versification or prosody.
Let us examine the external properties or features of the poetic sub-style in detail. *-
•••

a) Compositional Patterns of Rhythmical Arrangement


Metre and Line
It is customary to begin the exposition of the theory of English versification with the
statement that "...there is no established principle of English versification/'Eut this
statement may apply to almost any branch of linguistic science. Science in general
can live and develop only provided that there are constant disputes on the most crucial
issues of the giver; science.
English versification is no exception. We have already discussed some of the most
general points of rhythm. This was a necessary introduction to English versification,
inasmuch as English verse is mostly based on rhythmical arrangement and rhyme.
Both rhythm and rhyme are objective qualities of language and exist outside verse. x
But in verse
1 This is the reason that both rhythm and rhyme have been treated in Part III outside
the^ chapter on versification.
both have assumed their compositional patterns and, perhaps, due to this, they are
commonly associated with verse. The most observable and widely recognized
compositional patterns of rhythm making up classical verse are based, on:
1) alternation of stressed and unstressed syllables, x
2) equilinearity, that is, an equal number of syllables in the lines,
3) a natural pause at the end of the line, the line being a more or less complete
semantic unit,
4) identity of stanza pattern,
5) established patterns of rhyming.
Less observable, although very apparent in modern versification, are all kinds of
deviations from these rules, some of them going so far that classical poetry ceases to
be strictly classical and becomes what is called free verse, which in extreme cases
borders on prose.
English verse, like all verse, emanated from song. Verse assumes an independent
existence only when it tears itself away from song. Then only does it acquire the
status of a genuine poetic system, and rhythm, being the substitute for music, assumes
a new significance. The unit of measure of poetic rhythm in English versification is
not so much of a quantitative as of a qualitative character. The unit of measure in
musical rhythm is the time allotted to its reproduction, whereas the unit of measure in
English verse rhythm is the quality of the alternating element (stressed or, unstressed).
Therefore English versification, like Russian, is called qualitative, in contradistinction
to the old Greek verse which, being sung, was essentially quantitative. In classic
English verse, quanti-,ty is taken into consideration only when it is a matter of the
number of feet in a line. Hence classic English verse is called syl I a bo-tonic. Two
parameters are taken into account in defining the measure: the number of syllables
(syllabo) and the distribution of stresses (tonic). The nature of the English language
with its specific phonetic laws, however, is incompatible with the demand for strict
regularity in the alternation of similar units, and hence there are a number of accepted
deviations from established metrical schemes which we shall discuss in detail after
pointing out the most recognizable English metrical pa ft e r n-s.
There are five of them:
1. Iambic metre, in which the unstressed syllable is followed by a stressed one. It is
graphically represented thus: (w-).
2. Trochaic metre, where the order is reversed, i.e.. a stressed syllable is followed
by one unstressed (-^).
3. Dactylic me t r e—one stressed syllable is followed by two unstressed (-w).
4. Amphibrach i с metre—one stressed syllable is framed by two unstressed ^~w.
1 Many linguists hold that verse rhythm is based on alternation between stronger and
weaker stresses. They maintain that four degrees of stresses are easily recognizable.
But for the sake of abstraction—an indispensable process in scientific investigation —
the opposition of stressed—unstressed syllables is the only authentic way of
presenting tne problem of verse rhythm.
5. Anapaestic me tr e—iwo unstressed syllables are followed by one stressed (w-).
These arrangements of qualitatively different syllables are the units of the metre, the
repetition of which makes verse. One unit is called a foot. The number of feet in a line
varies, but it has its limit; it rarely exceeds eight.
If the line consists of only one foot it is called a monometerA a line consisting of two
feet is a dimeter; three—t r i т е t e /*; four-tetrameter\ five—p entdmeter\ six—h e x
a m e t e r\ seven—i septameter\ eight—о с t a m e t e r. In defining the measure, that!
is the kind of ideal metrical scheme of a verse, it is necessary to point out both the
type of metre and the length of the line. Thus, a line that consists of four iambic feet is
called iambic tetrameter, correspondingly a line consisting of eight trochaic feet will
be called trochaic octameter, and so on.
English verse is predominantly iambic. This is sometimes explained by the iambic
tendency of the English language in general. Most of the English words have a
trochaic tendency, that is the stress falls on the first syllable of two-syllabic words.
But in actual speech these words are preceded by non-stressed articles, prepositions,
conjunctions or by unstressed syllables of preceding words thus imparting an iambic
character to English speech. As a result iambic metre is more common in English
verse than any other metre.
Here are a few examples illustrating various metrical arrangements of English verse. ,

1. Iambic pentameter
Oh let me true in love but truly write
2. Trochaic tetrameter
•*.-, Would you ask-me whence these stories
3. Dactylic dimeter
Cannon to right of them
Cannon to' left of them
4. Amphibrachic tetrameter
O, where are you going to all you Big Steamers
5. Anapaestic tetrameter Do you ask what the birds say? The sparrow, the dove
If we make a careful study of almost any poem, we will fmd what 1 are called
irregularities or modifications of its normal metrical pattern. These modifications
generally have some special significance,
usually connected with the sense, though in some cases they may be due to the nature
of the language material itself. This is particularly the case with the first modification
when the stress is lifted from a syllable on which the language will not allow stress,
and we have what is called a pyrrhicfoot instead of an iambic or a trochaic foot, for
example:
So, that now to still the beating of my heart I stood repeating (Рое)
But makes surrender to some thoughtless boy (Keats)
In both examples the stress is lifted from prepositions on which the stress seldom
falls, therefore pyrrhics are very common and quite natural modifications in English
verse.
The second modification of the rhythm is the inverted order of stressed and unstressed
syllables in one of the feet of the iambic or trochaic pattern. For example, in the
sonnet by Roy Campbell "The Serf" which,'like all sonnets, is written in iambic
pentameter, there creeps in a foot wjiere the order, unstressed—stressed, is inverted:
His naked skin clothed in the torrid mist
That puffs in smoke around the patient hooves
Here the third foot of the first line violates the rhythmic pattern. Such modifications
are called rhythmic inversions and are used to add emphasis.
The third modification is the insertion of a foot of two stressed syllables, called a
spondee. It is used instead of an iambus or a trochee. In Shakespeare's iambic
pentameter these two modifications are frequently to be found, for example:
The morn in russet mantle clad
Walks o'er the dew of yon high eastern hill
Here the first foot of the second line is rhythmic inversion, and the fourth is a
spondee.
Rhythmic inversion and the use of the spondee may be considered deliberate devices
to reinforce the semantic significance of the word-combinations. Here are other
examples:
Roll on, thou deep and dark blue ocean, roll.
Ten thousand fleets sweep over thee in vain.
The spondee as,a rhythmic modification, unlike the pyrrhic, is always used to give
added emphasis. This may be explained by the fact that two successive syllables both
under heavy stress produce a kind of clash as a result of which the juncture between
the syllables becomes wider' thus making each of them conspicuous. A pyrrhic
smooths and quickens the pace of the rhythm; a spondee slows it down and makes it
jerky.
Pyrrhics may appear in almost any foot in a line, though they are rarely found in the
last foot. This is natural as the last foot generally has a rhyming word and rhyming
words are always stressed. Spondees generally appear in the first or the last foot.
These three modifications of the rhythm are the result of the clash between the
requirements of the metrical scheme and the natural tendency of the language material
to conform to its own phonetic laws. The more verse seeks to reflect the lively norms
of colloquial English, the more frequently are modifications such as those
described,to be found.
The fourth modification has to do with the number of syllables in the line. There may
be either a syllable missing or there may be an extra syllable. Thus, the last syllable of
a trochaic octameter is often missing, as in this line from Poe's "The Raven":
Thrilled me, filled me with fantastic terrors never felt before
This is called ahypometric line. Other lines in the poem fiave the full sixteen
syllables.
In iambic metre there may be an extra syllable at the end of the line. In the line from
the Shakespeare sonnet:
"Then in these thoughts myself almost despising"
there are eleven syllables, whereas there should have been ten, the line being iambic
pentameter, as are all the lines of a sonnet. A line with an extra syllable is called h y^p
e r m e t r i c.
Such departures from the established measure also break to some extent the
rhythmical structure of the verse, and are therefore to be considered modifications of
the rhythm.
The fifth departure from the norms of classic verse is e n j a m b -meat, or ihe run-on
line. This term is used to denote the transfer of a part of a syntagrtijrom one line to the
following one, as in the following lines from Byron's "Childe Harold's Pilgrimage":
1. Fair is proud Seville; let her country boast
2. Her strength, her wealth, her site of ancient days;
6. While boyish blood is mantling, who can 'scape
7. The fascination of the magic gaze?
It will be observed that here again is a violation of the requirements of the classical
verse according to which the line must be a more or less complete unit in itself. Here
we have the overflowing of the sense to the next line due to the break of the syntagm
in the first and sixth lines-—
close predicate-object groups. The lines seem to be torn into two lalves, the second
half flowing structurally into the first half of the next [line. The first impression is that
this is some kind of prose, and not verse,
this impression is immediately contradicted by the feeling that there |is a definite
metrical scheme and pattern of rhyming.
The rhythmic pattern of the verse leads us to anticipate a certain smantic structure; but
when the device of enjambment is used, what
anticipate is brought into conflict with what we actually find, that [is, what is actually
materialized.
This is still more acutely felt in the case of s t a n z a e n j a m b -\tn e n t. Here the
sense of a larger rhythmic unit, the stanza, which is [generally self-contained and
complete, is made to flow over to the next [stanza.
Here is an example from Byron's "Childe Harold", Canto 1, stanzas ILI and LII.
LI
8. The holster'd steed beneath the shed of thatch,
9. The ball-piled pyramid, the ever-blazing match,
LII
1. Portend the deeds to come:—but he whose nod
2. Has tumbled feebler despots from their sway.
The essence of enjambment is the violation of the concordance between the
rhythmical and the syntactical unity in a line of verse. At the end of each rhythmical
line in classical verse there must be a pause of an appreciable size-between the lines
which ensures the relative independence of each. The juncture between the lines is
wide. Enjambment throws a part of the syntagm over to the second line, thus causing
the pause to grow smaller and the juncture closer. This leads to a break in the rhyth-
mico-syntactical unity of the lines; they lose their relative independence.
Stanza enjambment is the same in nature, but it affects larger rhyth-mico-syntactical
units, the stanzas. Here we seldom witness the break of a syntagm, but the final part
of the utterance is thrown over to the next stanza, thus uniting the two stanzas,
breaking -the self-sufficiency of each and causing the juncture between the stanzas to
become closer.
It is important to remind the reader that modifications in English metre, no matter
how frequent, remain modifications, for the given metrical scheme is not affected to
any appreciable extent. As a matter of fact these irregularities may be said to have
become regular. They add much variety and charm to the verse. Indeed, if the metre is
perfectly regular without any of the five modifications described above, the verse may
sound mechanical and lifeless, artificial and monotonous.
The Stanza
We have defined rhythm as more or less regular alternations of similar units. Of the
units of verse rhythm the following have been named: the syllable, the foot, the line
and finally the stanza.
The stanza is the largest unit in verse. It is composed of a number of lines having a
definite measure and rhyming system which is repeated throughout the poem.
The stanza is generally built up on definite principles with regard to the number of
lines, the character of the metre and the rhyming pattern.
There are many widely recognized stanza patterns in English poetry, but we shall
name only the following.
1) The heroic couple t — a stanza that consists of two iambic pentameters with the
rhyming pattern aa.
Specialists in versification divide the history of the development of this stanza into
two periods: the first is the period of Chaucer's "Canterbury Tales" and the second the
period of Marlowe, Chapman and other Elizabethan poets, The first period is
characterized by the marked flexibility of the verse, the relative freedom of its
rhythmic arrangement in which there are all kinds of modifications. The second
period is characterized by rigid demands for the purity of its rhythmical structure. The
heroic couplet, beginning with the 16th century and particularly in the poetry of
Spencer, was enchained by strict rules of versification, and lost its flexibility and
freedom of arrangement.
The heroic couplet was later mostly used in elevated forms of poetry, in epics and
odes. Alexander Pope used the heroic couplet in his "The Rape of the Lock" with a
satirical purpose, that of parodying the epic. Here are two couplets from this poem:
"Then flashed^ the living lightning from her eyes, And screams ol horror rent the
affrighted skies. Not louder shrieks to pitying heaven are cast, When husbands or
when lap dogs breathe their
2) The next model of stanza which once enjoyed popularity was the Spenceria-n
stanza, named after Edmund Spencer, the 16th century poet who first used this type of
stanza in his "Faerie Queene." It consists of nine liftes, the first eight of which are
iambic pentameters and the ninth is one foot longer, that is, an iambic hexameter. The
rhyming scheme is ababbcbcc. Byron's "Childe Harold" is written in this stanza: ' .
1. "Awake, ye sons of Spain! Awake! Advance! (a)
2. Lo! Chivalry, your ancient goddess, cries, (b)
3. But wields not, as of old, her thirsty lance, (a)
4. Nor shakes her crimson plumage in the skies: (b)
5. Now on the smoke of blazing bolts she flies, (b)
6. And speaks in thunder through yon engine's roar: (c)
7. In every peal she calls — "Awake! Arise!" (b)
8. Say, is her voice more feeble than of .yore, (c)
9. When her war-song was heard on Andalusia's shore? (c)
3) The stanza named'ottava rima has also been popular in English poetry. It is
composed of eight iambic pentameters, the rhyming scheme being abababcc. This
type of stanza was borrowed from Italian poetry and was widely used by Philip
Sidney and other poets of the 16th century. Then it fell into disuse but was revived at
the end of the 18th century. Byron used it in his poem "Beppo" and in "Don Juan."
Here it is:
1. "With all its sinful doings, I must say, (a)
2. That Italy's a pleasant place to me, (b)
3. Who love to see the Sun shine every day, (a)
4. And vines (not nail'd to walls) from tree to tree (b) '
5. Festoon'd much like the back scene of a play (a)
6. Or melodrame, which people flock to see, (b)
, 7. When the first act is ended by a dance (c)
8. In vineyards copied from the South of France." (c)
4) A looser form of stanza is the ballad stanza. This is generally an alternation of
iambic tetrameters with iambic dimeters (or trimeters), and the rhyming scheme is
abcb\ that is, the tetrameters are not rhymed— the trimeters are. True, there are
variants of the ballad stanza, particularly in the length of the stanza.
The ballad, which is a very old, perhaps the oldest form gf English verse, is a short
story in rhyme, sometimes with dialogue and direct speech. In the poem of Beowulf
there are constant suggestions that the poem was made up from a collection of much
earlier ballads. Modern ballads in form are imitations of the old English ballad. Here
is a sample of the ballad stanza:
"They took a plough and plough'd him down (a)
Put clods upon his head; (b)
And they had sworn a solemn oath (c)
John Barleycorn was dead." (b) (Robert Burns)
In some of the variants of the ballad stanza the rhyming scheme is abab, that is the
stanza becomes a typical quatrain.
5) One of the most popular stanzas, which bears the name of stanza x only
conventionally, is the s о n n e t. This is not a part of a larger unit, it is a complete
independent work of a definite literary genre. However, by tradition and also due to
its strict structural design this literary genre is called a stanza.
The English sonnet is composed of fourteen iambic pentameters with the following
rhyming scheme: ababcdcdefefgg, that is, three quatrains with cross rhymes and a
couplet at the end. The English sonnet was borrowed from Italian poetry, but on
English soil it underwent structural and sometimes certain semantic changes.
The Italian sonnet was composed of two quatrains with a framing rhyme abba. These
two quatrains formed the octave. It was followed by asestette, i.e. six lines divided
into two tercets, i.e. three
units with cde rhyming in each, or variants, namely, cdcdcd or cdedce and others.
The semantic aspect of the Italian sonnet was also strictly regularized. The first
quatrain of the octave was to lay the main idea before the reader; the second quatrain
was to expand the idea of the first quatrain by giving details or illustrations or proofs.
So the octave had not only a structural but also a semantic pattern: the eight lines
were to express one idea, a thesis.
The same applies to the sestette. The first three lines were to give an idea opposite to
the one expressed in the octave, a kind of antithesis, and the last three lines to be a
synthesis of the ideas expressed in the octave and the first tercet. This synthesis was
often expressed in the last two lines of the sonnet and these two lines therefore were
called epigrammatic lines.
The English, often called the Shakespearean sonnet has retained many of the features
of its Italian parent. The division into octave and sestette is observed in many sonnets,
although th.e sestette is not always divided into two tercets. The rhyming scheme is
simplified and is now expressed by the formula ababcdcdefefgg given above.
The most clearly observable characteristic feature of the sonnet on the content plane is
the epigram-like last line (or last two lines).
Sonnets were very popular in England during the sixteenth century. Wyatt, Surrey,
Sidney and many other English poets of this period indulged in writing sonnets, and it
is significant that during this period an enormous number were written. Wyatt adhered
strictly to the Italian model. Surrey modified it and it was this modification that
Shakespeare used.
The Shakespearean sonnets, which are known all over the world, are a masterpiece of
sonnet composition. All 154 sonnets express the feelings of the poet towards his
beloved, his friend and his patron. Even those sonn^s, the mairTidea of^which is by
no means limited to the lyrical laying out of the feelings Of the poet (as Sonnets Nos.
66, 21 and others), still pay tribute to the conventional form of the sonnet by
mentioning the object of the poet's feelings.1
The types of English stanzas enumerated in no way exhaust the variety of this macro-
unit in the rhythmical arrangement of the utterance. The number of types of stanzas is
practically unlimited. We have chosen only those which have wort"wvide recognition
and are taken up by many poets as a convenient mould into which new content may
be poured. But there are many interesting models which still remain unique and
therefore cannot yet be systematized.
An interesting survey of stanza models in the English poetry of the eighteenth and
nineteenth centuries has been made by Y. Vorobyov in his thesis on "Some Stanza
Peculiarities in 18th and 19th Century English Verse."
Free Verse and Accented Verse
Verse remains classical if it retains its metrical scheme.
There are, however, types of verse which are not classical. The one most popular is
what is called "vers libre" which is the French term for free verse. Free verse departs
considerably from the strict requirements of classical verse, but its departures are
legalized. Free verse is recognized by lack of strictness in its rhythmical design. The
term 'free verse' is used rather loosely by different writers; so much so that what is
known as accented or stressed verse is also sometimes included.
Here we shall use the term 'free verse' to refer only to those varieties of verse which
are characterized by: 1) a combination of various metrical feet in the line; 2) absence
of equilinearity and 3) stanzas of varying length. Rhyme, however, is generally
retained. Hence the term 'free verse' is limited in this work to verse in which there is a
more or less regular combination of different metrical feet, different lengths of line
and different lengths of stanza.
A good illustration of free verse in our sense of the term is Shelley's poem "The
Cloud."
"I bring fresh showers for the thirsting flowers,
From the seas and the streams; I bear light shade for the leaves when laid
•In their noonday dreams. From my wings are shaken the dews that waken
The sweet buds every one, When rocked to rest on their mother's breast,
As she dances about the sun. I wield the flail of the lashing hail,
And whiten the green plains under, And then again I dissolve it in rain,
And laugh as I pass in thunder."
Here the odd lines are tetrameters in which there are combinations of iambic and
anapaestic metres. The even lines are either dimeters or trimeters of iambic and
anapaestic metre. So the metre is not homogeneous within the lines; the lines are of
different lengths and the stanzas have different numbers of lines: the first one has
twelve lines, the second eighteen, the third fourteen. The remaining stanzas also vary
in length. The number of syllables in each line also varies. The first line has nine
syllables, the second—six, the third—nine, the fourth—five, the fifth— eleven, the
sixth—six, the seventh—nine, the eightK—seven, the ninth— nine, the tenth—eight,
the eleventh—ten, the twelfth—eight.
Yet in this irregularity there is a certain regularity. First of all there is a regular
alternation of long and short lines; there is a definite combination of only two feet:
iambic and anapaestic; there is a definite rhym-4 ing scheme: the long lines have
internal rhyme, the short ones rhyme with each other. These regularities are
maintained throughout the poem. And that is why we say that in spite of an
appreciable departure from classical principles it remains to a large extent syllabo-
tonic verse. The
regularities we have pointed out prevent us from naming the instances of departure
from the classic model 'modifications' since they have a definite structural pattern.
Classic modifications of the rhythm are accidental, not regular.
Free verse is not, of course, confined to the pattern just described. There may not be
any two poems written in free verse which will have the same structural pattern. This
underlying freedom makes verse less rigid and more colloquial-like.
The departure from metrical rules is sometimes considered a sign of progressiveness
in verse, which is doubtful.
Classical English verse, free verse and the accented verse which we are about to
discuss, all enjoy equal rights from the aesthetic point of view and none of these types
of verse has any ascendancy over the others. Accented v e r se is a type of verse in
which only the number of stresses in the line is taken into consideration. The number
of "syllables is not a constituent; it is irrelevant and therefore disregarded. Accented
verse is not syllabo-tonic but only tonic. In its extreme form the lines have no pattern
of regular metrical feet nor fixed length, there is no notion of stanza, and there are no
rhymes. Like free verse, accented verse has very many variants, some approaching
free verse and some departing so far from any recognized rhythmical pattern that we
can hardly observe the essential features of this mode of communication. For the sake
of illustration we shall quote two poems representing the two extremes of accented
verse.
1. "With fingers weary and worn;
With eyelids heavy and red, A woman sat in unwomanly rags, Plying her needle and
thread,— Stitch! Stitch! Stitch!
In poverty, hunger and dirt; “* And stilbwith a^-voice of dolorous pitch *She sang the
"Song of the Shirt."
Work! Work! Work!
While the cock is crowing aloof! And work—work—work—
Till the stars-shine through the roof! It's O! to be a slave
Along with the barbarous Turk, Where woman has never a soul to save,
If this is Christian work!
Work—work—work—!
Till the brain begins to swim! Work—work—work—
Till the eyes are heavy and dim! Seam, and gusset, and band,
Band, and gusset, and seam,— Till over the buttons I fall asleep,
And sew them on in a dream." (Thomas Hood)
Even a superfluous analysis of the rhythmical structure of this poem clearly shows
that the rhythm is mostly founded on stress. In the first line there are seven syllables
and three stresses; the second has the same; but the third has ten syllables and four
stresses; the fourth—seven and three; the fifth—three and three; and so on. But still
we can find a regularity in the poem; for most of the lines have three stresses. At more
or less regular intervals there appear longer lines with four stresses. Since the
unstressed syllables are not taken into consideration, and therefore there are no
secondary or tertiary stresses (as in classic verse), the stresses in accented verse are
very heavy. The stanzas in this poem are all built on the same pattern: eight lines,
each containing two four-stressed lines.
The lines are rhymed alternately. All this makes this verse half accented, half free. In
other words, this is borderline verse, the bias being in the direction of accented verse.
This is not the case with the following poem by Walt Whitman: "Crossing Brooklyn
Ferry."
2. "Now I am curious what can ever be more stately and admirable to me than my
mast-hemm'd Manhattan, My river and sunset, and my scallop-edg'd waves of flood-
tide, The sea-gulls oscillating their bodies, the hay-boat in the
twilight, and the belated lighter;
Curious what Gods can exceed these that clasp me by the hand, and with voices I love
call me promptly and loudly by my highest name as I approach;"
This type of poetry can hardly be called verse from a purely structural point of view;
it is that kind of tonic verse which, by neglecting almost all the laws of verse building,
has gradually run into prose. But somehow there is still something left of the
structural aspect of verse, and this is the sirigling-out of each meaningful word
making it conspicuous and self-determinative by the pauses and by the character of
the junctures which precede and follow each of these words. Besides this, what makes
,this text poetry is also the selection of words, the peculiar syntactical patterns, and
the imagery.
Verse cannot do away with its formal aspects and remain verse. Therefore the extreme
type of accented verse just given ceases to be verse as such. If has become what is
sometimes called poetic prose.
Accented verse is nothing but an orderly singling-out of certain words and syntagms
in the utterance by means of intonation. This singling-out becomes a constituent of
this type of verse, provided that the distance between.each of the component parts
presents a more or less constant unit. Violation of this principle would lead to the
complete destruction of the verse as such.
Accented verse (tonic verse) has a long folklore tradition. Old English verse was tonic
but not syllabo-tonic. The latter appeared in English poetry as a borrowing from
Greek and Latin poetry, where the alternation was not between stressed and
unstressed but between long and short syllables. In the process of being adapted to the
peculiarities of the phonetic and morphological system of the English language,
syllabo-tonic verse has undergone considerable changes, and accented verse may
there-
fore conventionally be regarded as a stage in the transformational process of adapting
the syllabo-tonic system to the organic norms of modern colloquial English. This is
justified by the fact that present-day accented verse is not a mere revival of the Old
English poetical system but a newly arranged form and type of English verse.
Naturally, however, folklore traditions have influenced modern accented verse in a
number of ways.

b) Lexical and Syntactical Features of Verse


The phonetic features of the language of poetry constitute what we have called its
external aspect. These features immediately strike the ear and the eye and therefore
are easily discernible; but the characteristics of this substyle are by no means confined
to these external features. Lexical and syntactical peculiarities, together with those
just analysed, will present the substyle as a stylistic entity.
Among the lexical peculiarities of verse the first to be mentioned is imagery, which
being the generic feature of the belles-lettres style assumes in poetry a compressed
form: it is rich in associative power, frequent in occurrence and varied in methods and
devices of materialization.
"An image," writes A. E. Derbyshire, "is a,use of language which relates or
substitutes a given word or expression to or for an analogue in some grammatical
way, and which in so doing endows that word or expression with different lexical
information from that which it has in its set. An image, in this sense, is merely a
linguistic device for providing contextual information."1
In spite of its being rather complicated, there is a grain of truth in this definition of an
image, for an image does give additional (contextual) information. This information is
based on associations aroused by a peculiar use of a word or expression. An
interesting insight into the essence of imagery is given by Z:;Paperny: "Poetical
image," he writes, "is not a frozen picture, but movement;,not a static reproduction
but the developing idea of an artist."2 He calls the image a "double unit'," thus
pointing to the twofold application of the word, word-combination or even whole
sentence.
We here define imagery as a use of language media which will create a sensory
perception of an abstract notion by arousing certain associations (sometimes very
remote) between the general and the particular, the abstract and the concrete, the
conventional and the factual.
It is hardly possible to under-estimate the significance of imagery in the belles-lettres
style of language. Imagery may be regarded as the antipode to precision,
although'some stylicists hold the view that imagery has its own kind of precision.
"The essence of an image," writes L. V. Shcherba, "...is in the multifariousness of the
associations it provokes." s
The image, as a purely linguistic notion, is something that must be decoded by the
reader. So are the subtle inner relations between the parts of the utterance and
between the utterances themselves. These relations are not so easily discernible as
they are in logically arranged utterances. Instances of detached construction,
asyndeton, etc. must also be interpreted.
An image can be decoded through a fine analysis of the meanings of the given word
or word-combination. In decoding a given image, the dictionary meanings, the
contextual meanings, the emotional colouring and, last but not least, the associations
which are awakened by the image should all be called into play. The easier the images
are decoded, the more intelligible the poetic utterance becomes to the reader. If the
image is difficult to decode, then it follows that either the idea is not quite clear to the
poet himself or the acquired experience of the reader is not sufficient to grasp the
vague or remote associations hidden in the given image.
Images from a linguistic point of view are mostly built on metaphor, metonymy and
simile. These are direct semantic ways of coining images. Images maybe divided into
three categories: two concrete (visual, aural), and one abstract (relational).
Visual images are the easiest of perception, inasmuch as they are readily caught by
what is called the mental eye. In other words, visual images-are shaped through
concrete pictures of objects, the impression of which is present in our mind. Thus in:
"... and then my state,
Like to the lark at break of day arising
From sullen earth..." (Shakespeare)
the simile has called up a visual image, that of a lark rising.
Onomatopoeia will build an а и r a I i т a g e in our mind, that is, it will make us hear
the actual sounds of nature or things (see, for example: "How the Water Comes Down
at Ladore").
Arelational imaged one that shows the relation between objects through another kind
of relation, and the two kinds of relation will secure a more exact realization of the
inner connections between things or phenomena.
Thus in:
"Men of England, Heirs of Glory, Heroes of unwritten story. Nurslings of one mighty
mother, Hopes of her, and one another." (3helley)
such notions as 4heirs of glory', 'heroes of unwritten story', 'nurslings of ... mother',
'hopes of her...' all create relational images, inasmuch as they aim at showing the
relations bet ween the constituents of the metaphors but not the actual (visual) images
of, in this case, 'heir', 'hero', 'nursling', 'hope'.
A striking instance of building up an image by means other than metaphor, metonymy
and simile is to be seen in the following passage of emotive prose from "The Man of
Property." Galsworthy has created
in this particular case an atmosphere of extreme tension at a dinner table. This is only
part of the passage:
"Dinner began in silence; the women facing one another, and the men.
In silence the soup was finished—excellent, if a little thick; and fish was brought. In
silence it was handed.
Bosinney ventured: "It's the first spring day."
Irene echoed softly: "Yes—the first spring day."
"Spring!" said June: "There isn't a breath of air!" No one replied.
The fish was taken away, a fine fresh sole from Dover. And Bilson brought
champagne, a bottle swathed around the neck with white.
Soames said: "You'll find it dry."
Cutlets were handed, each pink-frilled about the legs. They were refused by June, and
silence fell"
The first thing that strikes the close observer is the insistent repetition of words,
constructions, phrases. The word 'silence' is repeated four times in a short stretch of
text. The idea of silence is conveyed by means of synonymous. expressions: 'There
was a lengthy pause', 'no one replied' ('answered'), 'Long silence followed!' Then the
passive constructions ('fish was brought', 'it was handed', 'the fish was taken away',
'cutlets were handed', 'They were refused', 'they were borne away', 'chicken was
removed', -'sugar was handed her', 'the charlotte was removed', 'olives... caviare were
placed', 'the olives were removed', 'a silver tray was brought', and so on) together with
parallel construction and asyndeton depict the slow progress of the dinner, thus
revealing the strained atmosphere of which all those present were aware.
This example illustrates the means by which an image can be created by syntactical
media and repetition. Actually we do not find any transferred meanings in the words
used here, i.e. all the words are used in their literal meanings. And yet-so .strong is the
power of syntactical arrangement and repetition that the reader cannot fail to
experience himself the tension surrounding the dinner table.
In this connection it is worth mentioning one of the ways of building up images which
Archibald A. Hill, an American scholar of linguistics, has called an i с о п. The icon
4s a direct representation, not necessarily a picture, of a thing or an event.
"Icons," he writes, "have not generally been included among the enumerations of
figures of speech, and in discussions of imagery, have usually been called simply
descriptions." x
The excerpt from "The Man of Property" may serve as a good example of an icon.
This device might justly be included in the system of stylistic devices and be given its
due as one of the most frequent ways of image-building. However, an icon must
always rest on some specific, concretizing use of words, and their forms (e.g. tenses
of verbs), and/or the arrange-ment of sentences, which secure the desired image.
These language unit
be likened to the colours in a painting which only in an adequate arrangement will
reproduce the image. "An image," writes A. E. Derbyshire, evidently having in mind
the process of iconizing, "is merely a way of using words in certain syntagmatic
relationships."1
It was necessary to dwell so lengthily on the problem of icons because, to hazard a
guess, icons seem to be a powerful means of creating images in the belles-lettres
style. The simplicity and ease in decoding the icon outweighs the effect of other
image-building media, the latter being more complicated because of their multi-
dimensional nature. These properties of icons make it advisable to single the device
out as one among other means of image-building. Icons may justly be promoted to
canons in the belles-lettres style. '
Another feature of the poetical substyle is its volume of emotional colouring. Here
again the problem of quantity comes up. The emotional element is characteristic of
the belles-lettres style in general. But poetry has it in full measure. This is, to some
extent, due to the rhythmic foundation of verse, but more particularly to the great
number of emotionally coloured words. True, the degree of emotiveness in works of
belles-lettres depends also on the idiosyncrasy of the writer, on the content, and on the
purport. But emotiveness remains an essential property of the style in general and it
becomes more compressed and substantial in the poetic substyle. This feature of the
poetic substyle has won formal expression in poetic words which have beenjegarded
as conventional symbols of poetic language.
In the history of poetic language' there are several important stages of development.
At every stage the rhythmic and phonetic arrangement, which is the most
characteristic feature of the substyle, remains its essence. As regards the vocabulary,
it can be described as noticeably literary. The colloquial elements, though they have
elbowed their way into poetry at some stages in its development, still remain
essentially unimportant and, at certain periods, were quite alien to the style. But even
common literary words become conspicuous because of the new significance they
acquire in a line of poetry.
"Words completely colourless in a purely intellectual setting," writes S. Ullmann,
"may suddenly disclose unexpected resources of expressiveness in emotive or poetic
discourse. Poets may rejuvenate and revitilize faded images by tracing them back to
their etymological roots. When *T. S. Eliot says 'a thousand visions and revisions',
'revision' is suddenly illuminated and becomes transparent." 2
Poetry has long been regarded as "the domain of the few" and the choice of
vocabulary has always been in accord with this principle. The words, their forms, and
also certain syntactical patterns were usually chosen to meet the refined tastes of
admirers of poetry.
In the chapter on poetic words, we have pointed out the character of these words and
the role they have played in preserving the so-called "purity" of poetic language. The
struggle against the conventionalities
of the poetic language found its expression in the famous "Preface to Lyrical Ballads"
written by Wordsworth and Coleridge which undoubtedly bore some fruitful results in
liberalizing poetic language. They tried to institute a reform in poetic diction which
would employ "a selection of language really used by men" as they put it in their
Preface. However, their protest against poetical words and phrases was doomed to
failure. The transition from refined poetical language, select and polished, to a
language of colloquial plainness with even ludicrous images and associations was too
violent to be successful. Shelley and Byron saw the reactionary retrograde aspect of
the "reform" and criticized the poetic language of the^ Lake poets, regarding many of
the words they used as new "poeti-cisms."
However, the protest raised by Wordsworth and Coleridge reflected the growing
dissatisfaction with the conventionalities of poetic diction. Some of the morphological
categories of the English language, as, for instance, the Present Continuous tense, the
use of nouns as adjectives and other kinds of conversion had long been banned from
poetical language. The Quarterly Review, a literary journal of the 19th century,
blamed Keats for using new words coined by means of conversion. After the
manifesto of Wordsworth and Coleridge the "democratization" of poetic language was
accelerated, however. In Byron's "Beppo" and "Don Juan" we already find a great
number of colloquial expressions and even slang and cant. But whenever Byron uses
non-poetic words or expressions, he shows that he is well aware of their stylistic
value. He does this either by foot-notes or by making a comment in the text itself, as,
for example, such phrases as:
"He was 'free to confess'—(whence comes this phrase? Is't English? No—'tis only
parliamentary)"
or:
" . . . „,, ...... .to use a phrase
By which such-things tire settled nowadays."
But poetical language remains and will always remain a specific mode of
communication differing from prose. This specific mode of communication uses
specific means. The poetic words and phrases, peculiar syntactical arrangement,
orderly phonetic and rhythmical patterns have long been the signals, of poetic
language. But the most important of all is the power of the wofds^used in poetry to
express more than they usually signify in ordinary language.
A. A. Potebnya expresses this, idea in the following words:
"What is called 'common' language can at best be only a technical language, because
it presupposes a ready-made thought, but does not serve as a^means of shaping the
thought. It (the common) is essentially a prose language." г
The sequence of words in an utterance is hardly, if at all, predictable In poetry.
Semantic entropy is, therefore, an inherent property of poetic language. But
sometimes this entropy grows so large that it stuns and stupefies the reader,
preventing him from decoding the message, or it makes him exert his mental powers
to the utmost in order to discover the significance given by the poet to ordinary
words. This is the case with some of the modern English and American poetry.
Significant in this respect is the confession of Kenneth Allot, compiler of "The
Penguin Book of Contemporary Verse," who in his introductory note on William
Empson's poetry writes: "I have chosen poems I understand, or think I understand,
and therefore can admire... There are some poems I cannot understand at all." l
Poetry of this kind will always remain "the domain of the few." Instead of poetic
precision we find a deliberate plunge into semantic entropy which renders the
message incomprehensible. The increase of entropy in poetic language is mainly
achieved by queer word combinations, fragmentary ^syntax—almost without logical
connections.
We have already pointed out that in the history of the development of the literary
language, a prominent role was played by men-of-letters. There was a constant
struggle between those who were dissatisfied with the established laws which
regulated the functioning of literary English and those who tried to restrain its
progressive march.
The same struggle is evident in the development of poetic language. In ascertaining
the norms of 19th century poetic language, a most significant part was played by
Byron and^Shelley. Byron mocked at the efforts of Wordsworth and the other Lake
poets to reform poetical language. In his critical remarks in the polemic poem
"English Bards and Scotch Reviewers" and in his other works, he showed that the true
progress of poetic language lies not in the denial of the previous stylistic norms, but in
the creative reshaping and recasting of the values of the past, their adaptation to the
requirements of the present and a healthy continuity of long-established tradition.
Language by its very nature will not tolerate sudden unexpected and quick changes. It
is evolutionary in essence. Poetry, likewise, willrevolt against forcible impositions of
strange forms and will either reject them or mould them in the furnace of regognized
traditional patterns. Shelley in his preface to "The'Chenchi" writes:
"I have written more carelessly; that is, without an over-fastidious and learned choice
of words. In this respect I entirely agree with those modern critics who assert that in
order to move men to true sympathy we must use the familiar language of men, and
that our great ancestors the ancient English poets are the writers, a study of whom
might incite us to do that foF our own- age which they have done for theirs. But it
must be the real language of men in general and not that of any particular class to
whose society the writer happens to belong."
In Shelley's works we find the materialization of these principles. Revolutionary
content and the progress of science laid new demands on poetic diction and, as a
result, scientific and political terms and im-
agery based on new scientific data, together with lively colloquial words poured into
poetic language. Syntax also underwent noticeable changes' but hardly ever to the
extent of making the utterance unintelligible* The liberalization of poetic language
reflects the general struggle for a freer development of the literary language, in
contrast to the rigorous restrictions imposed on it by the language lawgivers of the
18th century In poetry words become more conspicuous, as if they were attired in
some mysterious manner, and mean more than they mean in ordinary neutral
communications. Words-in poetic language live a longer life than ordinary words.
They are intended to last. This is, of course achieved mainly by the connections the
words have with one another and^ to some extent, by the rhythmical design which
makes the words stand out in a more isolated manner so that they seem to possess a
greater degree of independence and significance.
2. EMOTIVE PROSE
The substyle of emotive prose has the same common features as have been pointed
out for the belles-lettres style in general; but all these features are correlated
differently in emotive prose. The imagery is not so rich as it is in poetry; the
percentage of words with contextual meaning is not so high as in poetry; the
idiosyncrasy of the author is not so clearly discernible. Apart from metre and rhyfne,
what most of all distinguishes emotive prose from the poetic style is the combination
of the literary variant or the language, both in words and syntax, with the colloquial,
variant. It would perhaps be more exact to define this as a combination of the spoken
and written varieties of the language, inasmuch as there are always two forms of
communication present—monologue (the writer's speech) and dialogue (the speech of
the characters).
The language of the writer conforms or is expected to conform to the literary norms of
the given period in ~the development of the English literary language. The
language"of the hero of a novel, or of a story will in the main be chosen in order to
characterize the man himself. True, this language is also subjected to some kind of
reshaping. This is an indispensable requirement of any literary work. Those writers
who neglect this requirement may unduly contaminate the literary language by flood-
ing the speech of their characters with non-literary elements, thus overdoing the
otherwise very advantageous device of depicting a hero through his speech.
It follows then that the colloquial language in the belles-lettres style is not a pure and
simple reproduction of what might be the natural speech of living people. It has
undergone'changes introduced by the writer. The colloquial speech has been made
"literature-like." This means that only the most striking elements of what might have
been a conversation in life are made use of, and even these have undergone some kind
of transformation.
Emotive prose allows the use of elements from other styles as well. Thus we find
elements of the newspaper style (see, for example, Sinclair Lewis's "It Can't Happen
Here"); the official style (see, for example, the
business letters exchanged between two characters in Galsworthy's novel "The Man
of Property"); the style of scientific prose (see excerpts from Cronin's "The Citadel"
where medical language is used).
But all these styles under the influence of emotive prose undergo Ikind of
transformation. A style of language that is made use of in prose I diluted by the
general features of the belles-lettres style which subjects I to its own purposes.
Passages written in other styles may be viewed only interpolations and not as
constituents of the style. ЕтоШе prose as a separate form of imaginative
literature, |at is fiction, came into being rather late in the history of the English Дегагу
language. It is well known that in early Anglo-Saxon literature There was no emotive
prose. Anglo-Saxon literature was mainly poetry, songs of a religious, military and
festive character. .The first emotive prose which appeared was translations from Latin
of stories from the Bible and the Lives of the Saints.
Middle English prose literature was also educational, represented mostly by
translations of religious works from Latin. In the llth and 12th centuries as a result of
the Norman conquest, Anglo-Saxon literature fell into a decline. Almost all that was
v/ritten was in French or in Latin.. In the 12th and 13th centuries, however, there
appeared the "Tales of King Arthur and his Round Table", some of which were
written in verse and others in prose. They were imitations of French models. In the
14th century there was an event which played an important role not only in the
development of general standard English, but in the development of the peculiarities
of emotive prose. This was the translation of the Bible made by Wyclif and his
disciples.
Emotive prose actually began to assume a life of its own in the second half of the 15th
century when romances and chronicles describing the life and adventures of semi-
legendary kings and knights began to appear. One of the most notable of these
romances was Malory V'Morte Darthur", printed byCaxton in 1471. It winds up a
long series of poems and tales of chivalry begun in the 12th century. It was retold in
prose from the French. "The Death of Arthur" is a work of. great historical, literary
and stylistic interest. Attempts were made to introduce dialogue into the texture of the
author's narrative before this, but here dialogue becomes an organic part of the work.
Dialogue within the author's narrative is a stylistic constituent of the substyle of
emotive prose. True, Malory's diabgues were far from even resembling the natural
features of living colloquial speech. The speech of the heroes lacks elliptical senten-
ces, breaks in the narrative and other typical features oj the spoken variety of English.
Emotional colouring is shown not in the syntactical design of the sentences but in the
author's remarks and descriptions. But nevertheless "Morte Darthur" must be counted
as a historical landmark in establishing the principles of emotive prose. The
introduction of dialogue means that the road to the more or less free use of colloquial
language was already marked out. Further on, colloquial elements began to infiltrate
into poetic diction as well.
With the coming of the s i x te e n t h century, which incidentally heralded a great
advance in all spheres of English social life,
English emotive prose progressed rapidly. Numerous translations from Latin and
Greek played a great role in helping to work out stylistic norms for the emotive prose
of that period. Translations from modern languages, of Italian and French romances in
particular, also began to influence the stylistic norms of emotive prose. The necessity
to find adequate language means to convey the ideas and the stylistic peculiarities of
the text in the source-language made the translators extend the scope of language
resources already used in literature, thus enlarging the potentialities of stylistic4
devices and language media.
Sixteenth century professional literary men like Philip Sidney, Johi Lyly, Robert
Greene and others known as the "University Wits," along side their interests in poetry
and the dramatic art, did not neglect emotive prose. A special stylistic trend arose
named after a literary work by Lyly entitled "Euphues, the Anatomy of Wit." The
whole book is written in a high-flown, over-refined manner. There is a fine subtlety of
expression combined with an unrestrained use of periphrasis. One can find allusions,
parallel constructions, antithesis, similes and many other stylistic devices in such
abundance that they pile up on one another or form long monotonous chains, the links
of which are instances of a given stylistic device.
Inasmuch as this literary work has had rather a notable effect on the subsequent
development of emotive prose (Lyly is called the pioneer of the English novel), it will
not come amiss to give a sample of the prose of "Euphues":
"The merchant that travaileth for gain, the husbandman that toileth for increase, the
lawyer that pleadeth for gold, the craftsman that seeketh to live by his labour, all
these, .after they have fatted themselves with sufficient, either take their ease or less
pain than they were accustomed. Hippomenes ceased to run when he had gotten the
goal, Hercules to labour when he had obtained the victory,Mercury to pipe when he
had cast Argus in a slumber. Every action hath his end; and then we leave to sweat
when we have found the sweet. The ant, though she toil in summer, yet in winter she
leaveth to travail. The bee, though she delight to suck the fair flower, yet is she at last
cloyed with honey. The spider that weaveth the finest thread ceaseth at the last, when
she hath finished her web.
But in the action and the study of the mind, gentlemen, it is far otherwise, for he that
tasteth the sweet of his learning en-, dureth all the sour of labour. He that seeketh the
depth of knowledge is as it were in a labyrinth.,."
This passage shows the prolixity of what came to be called the e u~ phuistic style1
with its illustrations built on semantic parallelism and the much-favoured device of
mythological allusions; with its carefully chosen vocabulary, its refinement artd
grace.
1 The word 'style' is used here not in the terminological sense employed in this book,
but in a more general, looser application.
Lyly's aim was to write in a style that was distinct from colloquial speech and yet not
poetry. He actually says that Englishmen wished "to hear a finer speech than the
language will allow." Euphuism was orientated upon the language of the court and the
nobility and marred all kinds of lively colloquial words and expressions. In general III
'is characterized by artificiality of manner.
Euphuism bred a liking for excessive embellishment, and this in Is turn, called forth
an unrestrained use of rhetorical devices unmo-fvated by the content and unjustified
by the purport of the communica-ton.
But not all 16th century emotive prose was of this character. Walter Raleigh's writing
was much simpler, both in vocabulary and syntax; it was less embellished and often
colloquial. Roger Ascham, though an excellent classical scholar, chose to write
"English matter in the English speech for English men." He writes in a plain,
straightforward, clear -manner with no attempt at elegance. Philip Sidney wrote prose
that could be as clear as Ascham's. Even when his sentences are long, they do not lose
their clarity. In contrast to Ascham he did npt scorn ornament, but, unlike Lyly, he
used it in moderation. The prose of Richard Hooker, who wrote on contraversial
religious themes, is restrained and has power I and balance. Hooker also had
considerable influence on the development I of English emotive prose.
I Euphuism, however, had merits in its time. It made msn-oMetters I look for finer,
more elegant forms of expression and this search inevitably made them more form-
conscious — they learned to polish their language and, to some extent, developed a
feeling for prose rhythm. But at later periods euphuism became reactionary, inasmuch
as it barred all kinds of lively colloquial words and expressions and hindered the
process of liberating the belles-lettres style from rigid poetical restrictions. The
"democratization" of the means of expression was incompatible with the aristocratic
artificiality and prettiness of euphuism.
A great influence on the further development of the characteristic features of the
belles-lettres style was exercised by Shakespeare. Although he never wrote prose,
except for a few insertions in some of his plays, he declared his poetical credo and his
attitude towards all kinds of embellishments in language in some of his works.1 Also
in hi$ "Love's Labour Lost" Shakespeare condemns the embellishing tendencies of
some of the poets. Here is a well-known quotation which has long been used to char-
acterize the pompous, showy manner of expression.
"Taffeta phrases, silken terms precise, * Three-pil'd' hyperboles, spruce affectation:
Figures pedant ical; these summer flies Have blown me full of maggot ostentation: I
do forswear them..."
On the whole the emotive prose of the 16th century had not yet shaped itself as a
separate style. Verse and drama predominate among
works of belles-lettres. The small amount of prose written, in particular emotive
prose, can be ascribed to the general strong tendency to regard the spoken variety of
the English language as inferior and therefore unworthy to be represented in belles-
lettres. And without speech of characters there can be no true emotive prose. This
perhaps explains the fact that most of the prose works of the period were histories,
biographies, accounts of travels, essays on different philosophical and aesthetic
problems. There were, of course, exceptions like Robert Greene's "Life and Death of
Ned Browne" and Thomas N ash's "The Unfortunate Traveller, or The Life of Jack
Wilton," tfie former being a story of crime and the latter an adventure story. These are
precursors of the modern novel.
The seventeen i h century saw a considerable development in emotive prose. It was an
epoch of great political and religious strife, and much that was written had a
publicistic aim. The decline in drama due to the closing of the theatres by the Puritans
in 1648 may also have had its effect in stimulating the development of emotive prose.
The two contrary tendencies in the use of language means, so striking in the 16th
century, assume new forms in the 17th. There was first of all the continuation of the
classical tradition, and secondly there was the less scholarly, but more English prose
that had been employed by the forty-seven translators of the "Authorized Version" of
the Bible. As is known, during the 16th century the English literary language had
received large additions from classical Greek and Latin and also from modern French
and Italian. Some writers considered it good style to introduce not only lexical but
also syntactical innovations: sentences were often built according to'classical patterns.
Burton, Browne and others constructed long passages following Latin models. One of
the 17th . century writers states:
"Many think 4hat they can never speak elegantly, nor write significantly, except* they
do it in a language of their own devising; as if they were ashamed of their mother
tongue, and thought it not sufficiently curious to express their fancies. By means
whereof, more French and Latin words have gained ground upon us since - the middle
of Queen Elisabeth's reign than were admitted by our ancestors..."1 „
The two tendencies' were combined in the prose works of Milton who, being a
Puritan, recognized the Bible as the highest authority in all matters, but who had a
deep knowledge of the ancient classics as well. -
The influence of the Bible on English emotive prose is particularly striking in the
works of John Bunyan. "The Pilgrim's Progress" represents a new trend in the
development of emotive prose. Here is an excerpt from the work:
"Now Giant Despair had a wife, and her name was Diffidence; so when he was gone
to bed, he told his wife what he had done,
to wit, that he had taken a couple of prisoners and cast them into his dungeon, for
trespassing on his grounds. Then he asked her also what he had best to do further to
them. So she asked what they were, whence they came, and whither they were bound,
and he told her. Then she counselled him, that when he arose in the morning he
should beat them without mercy. ...The next night she talked with her husband about
them further, and understanding that they were yet alive, did advise him to counsel
them to make away with themselves. So when morning was come, he goes to them in
a surly manner, as before, and perceiving them to be very sore with the stripes that he
had given them the day before, he told them that since they were never like to come
out of that place, their only way would be forthwith to make an end of themselves,
either with knife, halter, or poison: for why, said he, should you choose life, seeing it
is attended with so much bitterness? But they desired him to let them go. ... Then did
the prisoners consult between themselves, whether it was best to take his counsel or
no; and thus they began to discourse: —
Chr. Brother, said Christian, what shall we do? The life that we now live is miserable.
For my part, I know not whether it is best to live thus, or die out of hand. My soul
chooseth strangling rather than life, and the grave is more easy for me than this
dungeon! Shall we be ruled by the giant? Hope. Indeed our present condition is
dreadful, ...
Well, towards the evening the giant goes down into the dungeon again, to s'ee if his
prisoners had taken his counsel; ,.."
In this excerpt the main peculiarities of the style of emotive prose of the puritan trend
stand out clearly. Simplicity in choice of words and in syntax is the predominant
feature of the language of this type of emotive prose. The speech of the characters is
mainly shaped in the form of indirect discourse/When direct speech appears, it is
arranged as in a play, that is, the speaker is indicated by giving his full name or its
contracted form at the beginning of a line. The name is „not syntactically connected
with the character's utterance. It is interesting to note in passing that the yet
unestablished norms of emotive prose are reflected in a combination of the syntactical
arrangement of a play and that of emotive prose, as, for example, in this passage
where the name of the speaker precedes the utterance as in plays, and the same name
is mentioned within the direct speech as if it were introduced by the writer.
So there is a kind of mixture of two substyles, emotive prose and drama. However,
when incursions of direct speech are short, they are given within the author's
narrative, for example,
"...their only way would be forthwith to make an end of themselves, either with knife,
halter, or poison: for why, said he, should you choose life, seeing it is attended with
so much bitterness? But they desired him to let them go .
Another peculiarity of the prose of this period is a rather poorly developed system of
connectives, The connectives and, so that,-then
are used abundantly and often in a way that does not comply with their generally
accepted functions.
Bunyan's works have played a considerable role in establishing the most characteristic
features of emotive prose.
Imagery, so characteristic of the belles-lettres language style in general, begins to
colour emotive prose differently from the way it is used in poetry and plays of the
non-puritan trend. The imagery in the "Pilgrim's Progress" is based on allegory.
Allegory is akin to metaphor, but it differs from the latter by having a definite
symbolic meaning. Allegory in its most common form is a variety of antonomasia.
Words denoting abstract notions are used as proper names. So, in the passage quoted
above the name of the giant is 'Despair', his wife's name — 'Diffidence', the name of
the Castle is 'Doubting Castle', the names of the pilgrims are 'Christian' and 'Hopeful.'
This type of imagery has considerable tenacity in emotive prose and particularly in
plays.
• The puritan influence on the language of emotive prose at this time displays what
may be called an anti-renaissance spirit. This is shown in the -disparagement of
mythological imagery and any embellishment of language whatever. Bunyan's
abstract way of treating ordinary everyday-life events and conflicts led to an abstract
manner in depicting his characters. They are, as a rule, devoid of individuality. There
is no typification of a character's speech, and therefore there is practically no
difference between the language of the author and that of the heroes. A tendency to
simplify the literary language, resulting from the derogatory attitude of the puritans to
classical learning, is apparent in seventeenth century emotive prose, at least among
some writers.
However, the language of emotive prose at this period, as at preceding and subsequent
periods, did not progress along one line. The clas-. sical tradition and the over-use of
embellishments were also alive, and can be seen at any period i“ the development of
the English literary language, and tff emotive prose ^particular, in a greater or lesser
degree right until the beginning of the 20th century.
The struggle between the two opposing tendencies in rendering ideas in the style of
emotive prose reflects the political and religious strife between the Puritans and the
Cavaliers, the name given to those who were on the side of Charles I against the
Puritan Party during the Civil War of 1642—1652.X ч
Among representatives of "the "Cavalier" trend in literature we shall mention Jeremy
Taylor, whose works, mainly sermons, are illustrative of this ornamental manner.
"... he strongly resembles Spenser in his prolific fancy and diction, in a certain
musical arrangement and sweetness of ex-. pression, in prolonged description, and in
delicious musings and reveries, suggested by some favourite image or metaphor, on
which he dwells with the fondness and enthusiasm of a young poet. In these passages
he is also apt to run into excess; epithet is heaped upon epithet, and figure upon
figure; all the quaint
conceits of his fancy, and the curious stores of his learning are dragged in, till both
precision and propriety are sometimes lost." l
There was also a third trend in emotive prose which began to develop in the 17th
century and which became more apparent in subsequent periods. Representative of
this trend are Thomas Sprat and in particular John Dryden. This trend is responsible
for the introduction into writing of common words and phrases known as
colloquialisms. True, in 17th century emotive prose these elements were yet few. But
this third trend, as it were, broke the ice and a trickle of colloquial words began to
flow into emotive prose.
Thomas Sprat raised his voice against luxury and redundance of speech. He beheld
"with indignation how many mists and uncertainties these specious tropes and figures
have brought on our knowledge." He was all for a "close, naked, natural way of
speaking, positive expressions, clear senses, a native easiness". He preferred "the
language of artisans, countrymen and merchants before that of wits, and scholars."2
The models of prose writing at Dryden's disposal were the colloquial manner "of
Bunyan and similar writers, on the one hand, and, on the other, the elaborate manner
of Lyly, Sidney, Browne,- Jeremy Taylor and others. Dryden retained the simple
diction, and disciplined the loose everyday expressions of the former, he cut off the
awkward Latinisms and long-winded elegance of the latter. The features of Dryden's
prose are clarity, simplicity of sentence structure, lack of ornament, fluency and
rhythm. The influence of Dryden on both emotive prose and pub-licistic prose, which
began to develop rapidly in*the 18th century, was felt throughout the century. Dryden
has been called the father of English literary criticism.
After the Restoration of the Monarchy in 1660 a new trend arose in literature which
was also reflected in prose. The critical spirit was more and more taking the place of
the imaginative. Emotive prose was becoming a weapon of satire and not simply a
means of describing and interpreting the life of the day. This trend, materialized
mainly in essays, was outstanding in the prose works of Dryden (his "Essay on
Dramatic Poesy" in particular) and continued into the 18th century, where it became
conspicuous.
Eighteenth century emotive prose when compared to that of the seventeenth is, in its
most essential, leading features, characterized by the predominance of the third trend.
This third trend, which may justly be called realistic, is not the further development of
the puritan tendencies described above, although, doubtless, these tendencies bore
some relevance to its typical features. The motto of this trend may be expressed by
the phrase "call a spade a spade." By this phrase the adherents of the realistic trend in
literature, and in emotive prose in particular, expressed the idea that all things should
be called by their right names, that the writers should use plain, blunt wot*ds. This
was a kind
of protest against the complicated and elaborate periphrases by which the most
common concepts were often described.
The history of English literature gives their due to such prominent men-of-letters as
Defoe, Swift and Fielding who were ardent apologists of this direction in prose
writing, and who created fascinating novels, most of which ^re still reckoned among
the masterpieces of English literature. The aim of this new school of writers was to
make the language clear, precise, well-balanced, and moderate. They developed a
manner of writing which by its strength, simplicity and directness was admirably
adapted to ordinary every-day needs. But still the general philosophical and aesthetic
views dominating at this period greatly influenced the manner of writing.
The writers of the 18th century did much to establish emotive prose as an independent
form of literary art.
They considered that, being educated representatives of their society, it was their dity
to safeguard the purity of the English language. However, tfie principles they
followed were obscure and even contradictory. On the one hand, some of them, like
Johnson, were against the introduction into literary English of any colloqual elements,
regarding the latter as being inferior to the polished language of educated people. On
the other hand, many others felt an urgent necessity to bridge the gap between literary
and colloquial modes of expression in order to achieve a greater vividness and
flexibility of utterance. Therefore, though using the general language of this period, at
the same time they sought to subject it to conventional stylistic norms. *
These stylistic norms were very rigid. So much so, that the individual peculiarities of
the authors were frequently over-weighed by the general requirement of the stylistic
norms.
These norms are revealed in the levelling-off of the differences between the literary
language and the spoken language of the time. The author's speech and that of the
heroes resemble each other, so there is no speech characterization; А1ГШе characters
speak alike and almost in the same way as the author himself does.
Another stylistic feature of the emotive prose of the 18th century is a peculiar manner
of conveying the impression that the event narrated actually occurred, that the
narrative possessed authenticity. This manner of writing imparts.some of the features
of official documents to emotive prose. Some of the works of emotive prose therefore,
with their wealth of detail and what seems to be genuine fact,-resemble chronicles.
When the narrative is written in the first person singular, as it very often is, it reads
almost like a diary. The narrative itself is generally impassionate, devoid of any
emotional elements, with strict observance of syntactical rules governing the structure
of the sentences. In such works there are very few epithets, there is almost no
imagery. Such are most of the novels by Defoe, Swift, Fielding and others,
Illustrative in this respect are the works of Defoe. He really deserves the title of the
originator of the "authenticated" manner in emotive prose. His novel "Robinson
Crusoe" is written in a language which by its lexical and syntactical peculiarities has
very much in common with the style of an official report.
Joseph Addison and Richard Steele, whose essays were written for the journals "The
Tatler" and "The Spectator" also followed the general stylistic principles of this
period. The most striking feature, of course, is the inadequate representation of direct
speech. The most lively conversations (dialogues) are generally rendered in indirect
speech and only fragments of lively direct intercourse can be found in long passages
of the narrative. These are mostly exclamatory sentences, like "Sir Clou-desley
Shovel! A very gallant man!" or "Dr. Busby! A great man! He whipped my
grandfather; a very great man!"
The 18th century is justly regarded as the century which formed: emotive prose as a
self-sufficient branch of the belles-lettres style. But still, the manner in which emotive
prose used language means and stylistic devices in some cases still resembled the
manner of poetic style. At this time also it was difficult to tell a piece of emotive
prose from an essay or even from scientific prose. This was mainly due to the fact that
the most essential and characteristic features of these styles were not yet fully shaped.
It was only by the end of the 18th century that the most typical features of the emotive
prose style became really prominent. Laurence Sterne with his "Tristram Shandy"
contributed greatly to this process. Sterne thought that the main task of emotive prose
was"... to depict the inner world of man, his ever-changing moods. Therefore at the
foundation of his novel lies the emotional and not the logical principle."1
With Sterne, emotive prose began to use a number of stylistic devices which
practically determined many" of its characteristic features. In "Tristram Shandy" there
appear rudimentary forms of represented speech; the speech of the characters
approaches the norms of lively colloquial language; the narrative itself begins to
reflect the individuality of the author, not only in his world outlook but, which is very
important for linguistic analysis, in his manner of using the language means of his
time. He attempts to give speech characteristics to his characters, uses the different
stylistic strata of the English vocabulary widely both in the individual speech of his
characters and in the language of the author himself.
The role of Sterne in the shaping of the typical features of emotive prose of the
following centuries is under-estimated. He was the first to make an attempt to
overcome the traditional form of the then fashionable narrative in depicting
characters, events, social life and human conflicts. It was necessary to enliven the
dialogue and it was Laurence Sterne who was able to do so. The great realistic writers
of the nineteenth and the beginning of the twentieth centuries to some extent followed
in his footsteps.
Nineteenth century emotive prose can already be regarded as a substyle of the belles-
lettres language style complete in its most fundamental properties as they are
described at the beginning of this chapter.
The general tendency in English literature to depict the life of all strata of English
society called forth changes in regard to the language used for this purpose. Standard
English begins to actively absorb elements of the English vocabulary which were
banned in earlier periods from the language of emotive prose, that is, jargonisms,
professional words, slang, dialectal words and even vulgarisms, though the latter were
used sparingly and euphemistically—damn was printed d—, bloody, b—and the like.
l Illiterate speech finds its expression in emotive prose through the distortion of the
spelling of words, and the use of cockney and dialectal words; there appears a clear
difference between the speech of the writer and that-of his characters. A new feature
begins to establish itself as a property of emotive prose alone, namely, what may be
called multiplicity of stytes. Language means typical of other styles of the literary
language are drawn into the system of expressive means and stylistic devices of this
particular substyle. It has already been pointed out that these insertions do not remain
in their typical form, they are recast to comply writh the essential principles of
emotive prose.
Here is an example of a newspaper brief found in Thackeray's "Vanity Fair":
"Governorship of Coventry Island.—H. M. S. Yellowjack, Commander Jaunders, has
brought letters and papers from Coventry Island. H. E. Sir Thomas Liverseege had
fallen a victim to the prevailing fever at Swampton. His loss is deeply felt in the flour-
ishing colony. We hear that the governorship has been offered to Colonel Rawdon
Crawley, С. В., a distinguished Waterloo officer. We need not only men of
acknowledged bravery, but men of administrative talefits to superintend the affairs of
our colonies; and we have no doubt that the gentleman selected by the Colonial Office
to fill the lamented vacancy which has occurred at Coventry Island is admirably
calculated for the post which he is about to occupy".
By the end of the nineteenth century and particularly at the beginning of the twentieth,
certain stylistic devices had been refined and continue to be further developed and
perfected. Among these must be mentioned represented speech, both uttered and
unuttered (inner), and also various ways of using detached construction, which is
particularly favoured by present-day men-of-letters. Syntax, too, has undergone
modifications in the emotive prose of the last century and a half.
Present-day emotive prose is to a large extent characterized by the breaking-up of
traditional syntactical designs of the preceding
periods. Not only detached construction, but also fragmentation of syntactical models,
peculiar, unexpected ways of combining sentences, especially the gap-sentence link
and other modern syntactical patterns, are freely introduced into present-day emotive
prose. Its advance is so rapid that it is only possible to view it in the gross.
Many interesting investigations have been made of the characteristic features of the
language of different writers where wfiat is typical and what is-idiosyncratic are
subjected to analysis. But so far no deductions have been made as to the general
trends of emotive prose of the nineteenth century, to say nothing of the twentieth.
This work awaits investigators who may be able to draw up some general principles
distinguishing modern emotive prose from the emotive prose of the preceding
periods.
3. LANGUAGE OF THE DRAMA
The third subdivision of the belles-lettres style is the language of plays. The first thing
to be said about the parameters of this variety of belles-lettres is that, unlike poetry,
which, except for ballads, in essence excludes direct speech and therefore dialogue,
and unlike emotive prose, which is a combination of monologue (the author's speech)
and dialogue (the speech of the characters), the language of plays is entirely dialogue.
The author's speech is almost entirely excluded ex-,cept for the playwright's remarks
and stage directions, significant though they may be.
But the language of the characters is in no way the exact reproduction of the norms of
colloquial language, although the playwright seeks to reproduce actual conversation
as far as the norms of the written language will allow. Any variety of the belles-lettres
style will use the norms of the literary language of the given period. True, in every
variety there will be found, as we have already shown, departures from the established
literary norms. But in genuinely artistic work these departures will never go beyond
the boundaries of the permissible fluctuations of the norms, lest the aesthetic aspect of
the work should be lost.
It follows then that^the language of plays is always stylized, that is, it strives to retain
the modus of literary English, unless the playwright has a particular aim which
requires the use of non-literary forms and expressions. However, even in this case a
good playwright will use such forms sparingly. Thus in Bernard Shaw's play "Fanny's
First Play," Dora, a street-girl, whose language reveals her upbringing, her lack of
education, her way of living, her tastes and aspirations, nevertheless uses
comparatively few non-literary words. A bunk, a squiffer are examples! Even these
are explained with the help of some literary device. This is due to the stylization of
the language.
The stylization of coHoquial language is one of the features of plays 'which at
different stages in the history of English drama has manifested itself in different ways
revealing, on the one hand, the general trends of the literary language and, on the
other hand, the personal idiosyncrasies of the writer.
In the 16th century the stylization of colloquial language was scarcely maintained due
to several facts: plays were written in haste for the companies of actors eagerly
waiting for them, and they were written for a wide audience, mostly the common
people. As is known, plays were staged in public squares on a raised platform almost
without stage properties.
The colloquial language of the 16th century, therefore, enjoyed an almost unrestrained
freedom and this partly found its expression in the lively dialogue of plays. The
general trends in the developing literary language were also reflected in the wide use
of biblical and mythological allusions, evocative of Renaissance traditions, as well as
in the abundant use of compound epithets, which can also be ascribed to the influence
of the great Greek and Latin epics.
Generally speaking, the influence of Renaissance traditions can also be seen in a
fairly rich injection of oaths, curses, swear-words and other vulgarisms into the
language texture of the English drama of this period. In order to check the unlimited
use of oaths and curses in plays, an act of Parliament was passed in 1603 which
forbade the profane and jesting use of the names of God, Christ, the Holy Ghost and
the Trinity in any. stage play or performance. x
The 16th century plays are mostly written in iambic pentameter, rhymed or
unrhymed. The plays of this period therefore were justly called dramatic poetry. The
staged performance, the dialogue character of the discourse and the then obvious
tendency to keep close to the norms of colloquial language affected the verse and
resulted in breaking the regular rhythm of the metre.
This breaking of the regularity and strictness of the rhythmical design became one of
the characteristic features of the language of dramatic poetry, and the language of
plays of the earlier writers, who employed a strict rhythmic pattern without run-on
lines (enjambment) or other rhythmical modifications, Is considered tedious and
monotonous. Thus one of the most notable plays of this period "The Love of King
David and Fair Bethsabe" by George Peele, in spite of its smooth musical versi-
fication, is regarded as lacking variety. True, "...the art of varying the pauses and
modulating the verse without the aid of rhyme had not yet been generally adopted."2
But the great playwrights of this period, forced by the situation in which the
communicative process takes place — on a stage facing an audience—, realized the
necessity of modulating the rhythmical pattern of blank verse. Marlowe, Gr.eene,
Nash, Shakespeare and Ben Jonson modulated their verse to a greater or lesser degree.
Marlowe, for instance, found blank verse consisting of lines each ending with a
stressed monosyllable and each line standing by itself rather monotonous. He
modified the pauses, changed the stresses and made the metre suit the sense instead of
making the sense fit the metre as his predecessors
had done. He even went further and introduced passages of prose into the texture of
his plays, thus aiming at an elevation of the utterance. His "Life and Death of Dr.
Faustus" abounds in passages which can hardly be classed as verse. Compare, for
example, the following two passages from this play:
I FAUST: Oh, if my soul must suffer for my sin, ; Impose some end to my
incessant pain. !'.. Let Faustus live in hell a thousand years, A hundred
thousand, and at the last be saved: No end is limited to damned souls.
FAUST: But Faustus's offence can ne'er be pardoned. The serpent that tempted Eve
may be saved, but not Faustus. Oh, gentlemen, hear me with patience, and tremble not
at my speeches. Though my heart pant and quiver to remember that I have been a
student here these thirty years, Oh, would I had ne'er seen Wirtemberg, never read
book! And what wonders have I done, all Germany can witness, yes, all the world: for
which Faustus hath lost both Germany and the world; ...
It is unnecessary to point out the rhythmical difference between these two passages.
The iambic pentameter of the first and the arhythmi-cal prose of the second are quite
apparent.
Shakespeare also used prose as a stylistic device. The prose passages in Shakespeare's
plays are well known to any student of Elizabethan drama.
Shakespeare used prose in passages of repartee between minor characters, particularly
in his comedies; in "The Taming of the Shrew" and "Twelfth Night", for instance, and
also in the historical plays "Henry IV" (Part I, Part Л I) and "Henry V." In some
places there are prose monologues bearing the characteristic features of rhythmical
prose with its parallel constructions, repetitions, etc. As an example we may take
Falstaff's monologue addressed to the young Prince Henry in "Hen- / ry IV" (Part I,
Act II, Sc. 4).
On the other hand, prose conversation between tragic characters retains much of the
syllabic quality of blank verse, e.g. the conversation between Polonius and Hamlet
("Hamlet." Act II, Sc. 2).
A popular form of entertainment at the courts of Elizabeth and the Stuarts was the
masque. The origin of the court masque must have been thЈ performances presented at
court on celebrated occasions, as a coronation, a peer's-marriage, the birth of a prince
and similar events. These performances were short sketches with allusions to Greek
and , Latin mythology, allegoric in nature, frequently accompanied by song and music
and performed by the nobility. These masques are believed to be the earliest forms of
what is now known as "spoken drama." The reference to the events of the day and
allegoric representation of the members of the nobility called forth the use of words
and phrases alien to poetic diction, and passages of prose began to flood into the text
of the plays.
But the drama of the seventeenth century still holds fast to poetic
283
diction and up to the decline of the theatre, which was caused by the Puritan
Government Act of 1642, a spoken drama as we know it to-day had not seen the
stage.
The revival of drama began only in the second half of the 18th century. But the
ultimate shaping of the play as an independent form of literary work with its own laws
of functioning, with its own characteristic language features was actually completed
only at the end of the 19th century.
The natural conventionality of any literary work is most obvious in plays. People are
made to talk to each other in front of an audience, and yet as if there were no
audience. Dialogue, which, as has been pointed out, is by its very nature ephemeral,
spontaneous, fleeting, is made lasting. It is intended to be reproduced many times by
different actors with different interpretations. The dialogue loses its colloquial essence
and remains simply conversation in form. The individualization of each character's
speech then becomes of paramount importance because it is the idiosyncrasy of
expression which to some extent reveals the inner, psychological and intellectual
traits of the characters. The playwright seeks to approximate a natural form of
dialogue, a form as close to natural living dialogue as the literary norms will allow.
But at the same time he is bound by the aesthetico-cognitive function of the belles-
lettres style and has to mould the conversation to suit the general aims of this style.
Thus the language of plays is a stylized type of the spoken variety of language. What
then is this process of stylization that the language of plays undergoes? In what
language peculiarities is the stylization
revealed?
The analysis of the language texture of plays has shown that the most characteristic
feature here is, to use the term of the theory of information, redundancy of
information caused by the necessity to amplify the utterance. This is done for the sake
of the audience. It has already been pointed out that the spoken language tends to
curtail utterances, sometime^ simplify ing the syntax to fragments of sentences with-
out even showing the character of their interrelation. •
In plays the curtailment of utterances is not so extensive'as it is in natural dialogue.
Besides, in lively conversation, even when a prolonged utterance, a monologue, takes
place, it is interspersed with the interlocutor's "signals of attention", as they may be
called, for example: yes, yeah, oh, That's right,,so, I see;good, yes I know, oh-oh,fine,
Oh, my goodness, oh dear, well, well^wgll, Well, I never!, and the like.
In plays these "signals of attention" are irrelevant and therefore done away with. The
monologue in plays is never interrupted by any such exclamatory words on the part.of
the person to whom the speech is addressed. Further, in plays the characters'
utterances are generally much longer than in ordinary conversation.
Here is a short example of a dialogue between two characters from Bernard Shaw's
play "Heartbreak House":
CAPTAIN SHOTOVER: Nurse, who is this misguided and unfortunate young lady?
NURSE: She says Miss Hessy invited her, sir.
CAPTAIN SHOTOVER: And had she no friend, no parents to warn her against my
daughter's invitations? This is a pretty sort of house, by heavens! A young and
attractive lady is invited here. Her luggage is left on these steps, for hours; and she
herself is deposited in the poop and abandoned, tired and starving..."
This passage is typical in many ways. First of all, the matter-of-fact dialogue between
the captain and the nurse gradually flows into a monologue in which elements of the
spoken language and of emotive prose are merged. The monologue begins with the
conjunction 'and' which serves to link the preceding question to the monologue. The
question after 'and' is more of a "question-in-the-narrative" than a real question: the
captain does not expect an answer and proceeds with his monologue. Then after an
exclamatory 'This is a pretty sort of house, by heavens!', which is actual, common
colloquial, there again comes an utterance intended to inform the audience of the
Captain's attitude towards the House and the household. Mark also the
professionalism 'poop' used to characterize the language of Shotover, a retired ship's
captain. In fact, there is no dialogue, or, as Prof. Jakubinsky has it, a "false dialogue",
or "monological dialogue", the nurse's remark being a kind of linking sentence
between the two parts of the captain's monologue. These linking remarks serve to
enliven the monologue, thus making it easier to grasp the meaning of the utterance.
The monological character of the dialogue in plays becomes apparent also by the fact
that two or more questions may be asked one after another, as in the following
excerpts:
1. "LADY BRITOMART: Do you suppose this wicked and immoral tradition can be
kept up for ever? Do you pretend that Stephen could not carry on the foundry just as
well as all the other sons of big business houses?"
2. "BARBARA: Dolly: were you really in earnest about it? Would you have joined if
you had never seen me?" (Shaw)
Needless to say, in ordinary conversation we never use a succession of questions.
Generally only one, perhaps two, questions are asked at a time, and if more are asked
—then we already have a kind of emotional narrative; not a dialogue in the exact
meaning of the word.
In ordinary conversation we generally find "sequence sentences" connected by
"sequence signals". l These signals help^to establish the logical reference to what was
said before, thus linking all sequential series of sentences into one whole.
These sequence signals are mostly pronouns, adverbs, conjunctions, as in:
"The boy has just brought the evening paper. It is at the door," or: "Up to 1945 L. was
with Johnson. Since he has worked with us." It must be remarked in passing that
almost any lively dialogue will hold a sequence of sentences for only a short span, the
nature of lively
These also are terms suggested by Charles Fries.
dialogue allowing digressions from the starting point. How often do we hear the
phrase: "What was I going to say?" or "What was I driving at?" "How did we come to
talk about this?"—to ascertain the initial topic of conversation which has been
forgotten.
This is not the case in plays. The sequence of sentences reflecting the sequence of
thought, being directed by the purport of the writer, will not allow any digressions
from the course taken, unless this was the deliberate intention of the playwright.
Therefore, unlike .the real, natural spoken variety of language, the language of plays
is already purposeful. The sequence signals, which are not so apparent in lively
conversation, become conspicuous in the language of plays. Here is an illustrative
example of a span of thought expressed in a number of sentences all linked by the
pronoun he and all referring to the first word of the utterance 'Dunn' which, in its turn,
hooks the utterance to the preceding sentence:
"THE CAPTAIN: Dunn!. I had a boatswain whose name was Dunn, He was
originally a pirate in China, He set up as a ship's chandler with stores which I have
every reason to believe he stole from me. No doubt he became rich. Are you his
daughter?"
The degree to which the norms of ordinary colloquial language are converted into
those of the language of plays, that is, the degree to which "the spoken language is
made literary" varies at different periods in the development of drama and depends
also on the idiosyncrasies of the playwright himself. Here are two illustrations, one
taken from Oliver Goldsmith's play "The Good-Natured Man", an 18th century play,
and the other from H. Pinter's play "The Birthday Party", a play of our time.
"MR. CROAKER:.. But can anything be more absurd, than to double*our distresses
by our apprehensions, and put it in the power of every low fellow that can scrawl ten
words of wretched spelling, to torment us?"
Compare this utterance with the following:
"GOLDBERG: What's your name now? *
STANLEY: Joe Soarp.
GOLDBERG: Is the number 846 possible or necessary? STANLEY: Neither.
GOLDBERG: Wrong! Is the number 846 possible or necessary? STANLEY: Both."
- Almost the whole play is composed of such short questions and answers tending to
reproduce an actual communicative process where the sense is.vague to the outsider.
Considerable effort on the part of- the audience is sometimes necessary in order to
follow the trend of the conversation and decode the playwright's purport. '
It may be remarked in passing that there is an analogous tendency in modern emotive
prose where dialogue occupies considerable space.
In some of the novels it takes up three or four pages running, thus resembling a play.
In summing up, it will not come amiss to state that any presentation of a play is an
aesthetic procedure and the language of plays is of the type which is meant to be
reproduced. Therefore, even when the language of a play approximates that of a real
dialogue, it will none the less be "stylized". The ways and means this stylization is
carried out are difficult to observe without careful consideration. But they are there,
and specification of these means will be a valuable contribution to linguistic science.

B. PUBLICISTS STYLE
The publicist i*c s tу I e of language became discernible as a separate style in the
middle of the 18th century. It also falls into three varieties, each having its own
distinctive features. Unlike other styles, the publicistic style has a spoken variety,
namely, the о r a tor i с a I sub-style. The development of radio and television has
brought into being another new spoken variety, namely, the radio and TV с о т т е n-t
a r y. The other two substyles are the essay (moral, philosophical, literary) and
journalistic articles (political, social, economic) in newspapers, journals and
magazines. Book reviews in journals, newspapers and magazines and also pamphlets
are generally included among essays.
The general aim of publicistic style, which makes it stand out as a separate style, is to
exert a constant and deep influence on public opinion, to convince the reader or the
listener that the interpretation given by the writer or the speaker is the only correct
one and to cause him to accept the point of view expressed in the speech, essay or
article not merely through logical argumentation but through emotional appeal as
well. This brain-washing function is most effective in oratory, for here the most
powerful instrument of persuasion, the human voice, is brought into play.
Due to its characteristic combination of logical argumentation and emotional appeal,
publicistic style has features in common with the style of scientific prose, on the one
hand, and that of emotive prose, on.the other. Its coherent and logical syntactical
structure, with an expanded system of connectives and its careful paragraphing,
makes it similar to scientific prose. Its emotional appeal is generally achieved by the
use of words with emotive meaning, the use of imagery and other stylistic devices as
in emotive prose; but the stylistic devices used in publicistic style are not fresh or
genuine.- The individual element essential to the belles-lettres style is, as a rule, little
in evidence here. This is in keeping with the general character of the style.
The manner of presenting ideas, however, brings this style closer to that of belles-
lettres, in this case to emotive prose, as it is to a certain extent individual. Naturally,
of course, essays and speeches have greater individuality than newspaper or magazine
articles where the individual element is generally toned down and limited by the
requirements of the style,
Further, publicistic style is characterized by brevity of expression. In some varieties
of this style it becomes a leading feature, an important linguistic means. In essays
brevity sometimes becomes epigrammatic.
1. ORATORY AND SPEECHES
The oratorical s ty I e of language is the oral subdivision of the publicistic style. It has
already been pointed out that persuasion is the most obvious purpose of oratory.
"Oratorical speech", writes A. Potebnya, "seeks not only to secure the understanding
and digesting of the idea, but also serves * simultaneously as a spring setting off a
mood (which is the aim) that may lead to action." l
Direct contact with the listeners permits a combination of the syntactical, lexical and
phonetic peculiarities of both the written and spoken varieties of language. In its
leading features, however, oratorical style belongs to the written variety of language,
though it is modified by the oral form of the utterance and the use of gestures. Certain
typical features of the spoken variety of speech present in this style are: direct address
to the audience (ladies and gentlemen, honourable member(s), the use of the 2nd
person pronoun you, etc.), sometimes contractions (/'//, won't, haven't, isn't
and,others) and the use of colloquial words.
This style is evident in speeches on political and social problems of the day, in
orations and addresses on solemn occasions, as public weddings, funerals and
jubilees, in sermons and debates and also in the speeches'of counsel and judges in
courts of law.
Political speeches fall into two categories: parliamentary debates, and speeches at
rallies, congresses, meetings and election campaigns.
Sermons deal mostly with religious subjects, ethics and morality; sometimes
nowadays they take up social and political problems as well.
Orations on solemn public occasions are typical specimens of this style and not a few
of their word sequences and phrases are ready-made phrases or cliches.
The sphere of application of oratory is confined to an appeal to an audience and
therefore crucial issues in such spheres as science, art, literature, or business relations
are not touched upon except perhaps by allusion. .If such ргоЫётз are dealt with in
oratorical style the effect is humorous. The following extract from "Posthumous
Papers of the Pickwick Club" by Charles Dickens is ^ parody of an oration.
— "But I trust, Sir", said Pott, "that I have never abused the enormous power I wield.
I trust, Sir, that I have never pointed the noble instrument which is placed in my
hands, against the sacred bosom of private life, of the tender breast of individual
reputation;— I trust, Sir, that I have devoted my energies to—to endeavours—humble
they may be, humble I know they are—to instil those principles of—which—are—."
— Here the editor of the Eatonswill Gazette appearing to ramble, Mr. Pickwick came
to his relief, and said — "Certainly."—
The stylistic devices employed in oratorical style are determined by the conditions of
communication. If the desire of the speaker is to rouse the audience and to keep it in
suspense, he will use various traditional stylistic devices. But undue prominence
given to,the form may lead to an exaggerated use of these devices, to embellishment.
Tradition is very powerful in oratorical style and the 16th century rhetorical principles
laid down by Thomas Wilson in his "Arte of Rhe-torique" are sometimes still used in
modern oratory, though, on the whole, modern oratory tends to lower its key more
and more, confining itself to a quiet business-like exposition of ideas. Stylistic
devices are closely interwoven and mutually complementary thus building up an
intricate pattern. For example, antithesis is framed by parallel constructions, which, in
their turn, are accompanied by repetition, while climax can be formed by repetitions
of different kinds.
As the audience rely only on memory, the speaker often resorts to repetitions to
enable his listeners to follow him and retain the main points of his speech. Repetition
is also resorted to in order to convince the audience, to add weight to the speaker's
opinion.
The following extract from the speech of the American Confederate general, A. P.
Hill, on the ending of the Civil War in the U.S.A. is an example of anaphoric
repetition:
"It is high time this people had recovered from the passions of war. It is high time that
counsel were taken from statesmen” not demagogues'... It is high time the people of
the North and the South understood each other and adopted means to inspire
confidence in each other."
Further, anadiplosis is used:
"The South will not secede again. That was her great folly— folly against her own
interest, not wrong against you.
A mere repetition of the same idea and in the same linguistic form may bore- the
audience and destroy the speaker-audience contact, therefore synonymic phrase
repetition is used instead, thus fill'ing up the speech with details and embellishing it,
as in this excerpt from a speech on Robert Burns:
"For Burns exalted our race, he hallowed Scotland and the Scottish tongue. Before his
time we had f&r a long period been scarcely recognized', we had been falling out of
the recollection of the world. From the time of the Union of the Crowns, and still
more from the legislative union, Scotland had lapsed into obscurity. Except for an
occasional riot or a Jacobite rising, her existence was almost forgotten."
Here synonymic phrase repetition ('been scarcely recognized', 'falling out of the
recollection of the world', 'had lapsed into obscurity1, 'her existence was almost
forgotten') is coupled with climax.
Repetition can be regarded as the most typical stylistic device of English oratorical
style. Almost any piece of oratory will have parallel constructions, antithesis,
suspense, climax, rhetorical questions and questions-in-the-narrative. It will be no
exaggeration to say that almost all the typical syntactical stylistic devices can be
found in English oratory. Questions are most frequent because they promote closer
contact with the audience. The change of intonation breaks the monotony of the
intonation pattern and revives the attention of the listeners.
The desire of the speaker to convince and to rouse his audience results in the use of
simile and metaphor, but these are generally traditional ones, as fresh and genuine
stylistic devices may divert the attention of the listeners away from the main point of
the speech. Besides, unexpected and original images are more difficult to grasp and
the process takes time. If a genuine metaphor is used by an orator, it is usually a
sustained one, as a series of related images is easier to grasp and facilitates the
conception of facts identified one with another.
Allusions in oratorical style depend on the content of the speech and the level of the
audience.
Special obligatory forms open up and end an oration, e.g. My Lords; Mr. President;
Mr. Chairman; Your Worship; Ladies and Gentlemen, etc. At the end of his speech
the speaker usually thanks the audience for their attention by saying: Thank you or
Thank you very much. Expressions of direct address may be repeated in the course of
the speech and can be expressed differently: dear friends, my friends, Mark youl,
Mindl
Here is a sample of the speech made by a member of the House of
Commons in Parliament in April 1956 when the problem of air pollution
was discussed. It is an ordinary speech almost devoid of any signs of
elevation so typical when the orator tries to convince the audience.
"There has been a tremendous change in the Minister's attitude
since the Bill was first brought Jo the House. When we embarked
upon the Committee stage we were begging for bread and he gave
us a stone. Now, seemingly, when we are coming to the end of
, the feast he is putting many sweats in front of us. The Minister
hopes that we shall accept this proposal without too critical an
examination. While welcoming the Minister's proposals about
the Clean Air Council up to a poftit, there should be no interference
with the council's accountability to Parliament because the
chairman of the council will be the Minister.
When the hon. Member for Kidderminster (Mr. Nabarro) introduced a Private Bill,
the Minister consulted at great length with interested bodies, and particularly with
local authorities. It is within my knowledge that during those consultations sugges-
tions were made to him by people who had practical experience. Those suggestions
have not been accepted and woven into the Bill. I do not want the Clean Air Council
to become a kind of smokescreen behind which the Minister makes a report to his
own liking and which may contain views at variance with those of members of the
council,
It is essential, if the council is to be effective, that it includes people who are
interested and who have the knowledge and who have undertaken the scientific
research involved. It must be remembered that they will have a great deal more
knowledge of the subject than will the chairman of the council. They will, therefore,
have a totally different point of view about what is happening in the country than will
the Minister. We should provide that we have the uncompromising opinions of the
members of the council, including those members appointed to it because of their
knowledge of the problems of various localities.
Another point with which I want to deal was touched upon by the hon. Member for
Kidderminster. During the Committee stage we debated at great length the topic of
research into noxious fumes, especially sulphuric oxides. We especially pleaded that
the Clean Air Council should have co-ordinating powers so that it could co-ordinate
the activities of bodies conducting research into problems of oxides and noxious
fumes. Indeed, we thought that the Minister's opinion upon that subject was the same
as ours. As the Bill is now drafted, certain powers are given to local authorities to
contribute towards the cost of investigation and research into the pollution of the air.
We know that scientific and technical institutes and the fuel technology sections of
some universities are conducting research into the problem of sulphuric pollution; yet
we do not see any power given to the Clean Air Council to deal with the problem of
sulphuric oxides, even though sulphuric pollution is one of the worst forms of air
pollution. Will the Minister give us an assurance that he will specially direct the
attention of the Clean Air Council to its duties in co-ordinating research into the prob-
lem of sulphuric oxides? Will he at the same time look again at the problem of
Parliamentary accountability to make it possible for the council to give an annual
report to the House, irrespective of the opinions of the Minister?"
The ornamental elements in this speech are reduced to the minimum. It is a matter-of-
fact speech where no high-flown words or elaborate stylistic devices are to be found.
It will be of considerable interest to compare this speech to Byron-'s Maiden Speech
in the House of Lords in defence of the Luddites, which can be regarded as a perfect
specimen of oratorical style. Byron used his eloquence against the Bill providing
capital punishment for the destruction of machines. His purpose was to prevent the
passage of the Bill, to get an impartial examination of the facts.
Byron's speech is rich in oratorical devices. All these devices are motivated, they are
organically connected with the utterance: the form by no means dominates the
content.
In contradistinction, an examination of the following speech will show that it is
practically devoid 61 meaning. The speaker is merely seeking an effect.
"